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MOLIERE:    A    BIOGRAPHY 


OFTKE     *T\ 

UNIVERSITY   I 


Moliere  as  Mascarille 


M  O  L  I  E  R  E 


A  BIOGRAPHY 

BY 

H.  C.  CHATFIELD-TAYLOR 

WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION 

BY 

THOMAS   FREDERICK   CRANE      C' 

Professor  of  the   Romance  Languages  in   Cornell   University 


ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 

JoB 


NEW    YORK 
DUFFIELD   &   COMPANY 

1906 


Copyright,  1906 

BY 
DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 


Published  September,  1906 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,   CAMBRIDGE,   U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

AUTHOR'S  PREFACE xi 

INTRODUCTION xvu 

I.    CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH J 

II.    MADELEINE    BEJART    AND    THE    ILLUSTRIOUS 

THEATRE 19 

III.  THE  COMEDIANS  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  EPERNON    .  35 

IV.  EARLY  DRAMATIC  EFFORTS 5° 

V.    THE  COMEDIANS  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  CONTI      .  65 

VI.     PARISIAN  SUCCESS 84 

VII.    LES  PRECIEUSES  RIDICULES 101 

VIII.    THE  END  OF  APPRENTICESHIP 119 

IX.     ARMANDE  BEJART *35 

X.    THE  SCHOOL  FOR  WIVES  AND  ITS  COROLLARIES  155 

XI.      MOLIERE    THE    COURTIER l8l 

XII.    THE  POET  MILITANT 202 

XIII.  THEATRICAL  AND  DOMESTIC  LIFE 231 

XIV.  THE  MISANTHROPE 254 

XV.     MOLIERE  AND  THE  PHYSICIANS 279 

XVI.    MOLIERE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 3°6 


154915 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 
XVII.    THE  HISTRIONIC  PLAYS 331 

XVIII.    DEATH 358 


APPENDIX 381 

CHRONOLOGY 409 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 419 

INDEX 435 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

Moliere  as   Mascarille Frontispiece 

The  Pont  Neuf .    Facing  page     8 

Moliere's  Chariot  of  Thespis „       „     40 

Moliere  in  the  Role  of  Barber „       „     76 

The  Nymph  of  Vaux „       „   132 

Armande  Bejart  and  Moliere „       „   144 

Moliere  and  Bellocq  making  the  King's  Bed       .      .  „       „   186 

The  Soldiers  invading  the  Theatre „       „   234 

The  Medical  Faculty  of  Paris „        ,,282 

"  What !    a  sepulture   is   denied   a   man  worthy  of 

altars!"  „       „  378 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE. 

IN  writing  this  biography  the  aim  has  been  to  tell  the 
story  of  Moliere's  life  for  English  readers.  With  this 
in  view,  I  have  translated  all  the  quoted  passages, 
whether  in  prose  or  verse,  using  English  heroic  measure 
for  the  excerpts  from  Moliere's  versified  plays.  The 
French  classic  form  is  the  Alexandrine  rhymed  couplet, 
a  metre  ill  according  with  the  genius  of  our  language  ; 
hence  it  has  seemed  wiser  to  employ  the  blank  verse 
measure  of  our  own  dramatic  poetry  rather  than  to 
attempt  a  rendering  of  Moliere's  rhymed  hexameters  in 
English.  Manifestly  it  is  impossible  for  such  transla- 
tions to  retain  the  melodious  rhythm  of  the  original. 
My  sole  aim  has  been  to  suggest  rather  than  convey  the 
charm  of  Moliere's  imagery,  and  to  embody  the  spirit 
rather  than  the  letter  of  his  verse.  The  student  may 
find  in  the  Appendix  the  quoted  poetical  passages  in  the 
original  French. 

As  the  intention  has  been  to  interpret  Moliere's  life 
by  his  plays  and  his  plays  by  his  life,  rather  than  to 
write  an  exhaustive  criticism  of  his  dramatic  works,  in  the 
chapters  devoted  to  the  comedies  more  attention  has 
been  given  to  those  concerned  with  his  life  than  to  pieces 
written  mainly  for  stage  purposes  or  to  adorn  some  court 
festivity. 

The  titles  of  Moliere's  plays,  as  well  as  those  by  other 
authors  of  the  period,  have  been  translated,  except  when 


xii  AUTHOR'S   PREFACE 

a  title  is  etymologically  the  same  in  both  languages ;  as 
in  the  case  of  Corneille's  Andromede  or  Moliere's  Le 
Misanthrope,  in  which  instances  the  English  equivalent 
alone  has  been  used.  The  first  time  a  play  is  mentioned, 
however,  or  when  it  becomes  the  subject  of  special  com- 
ment, the  French  title  is  given  in  parenthesis.  In  all 
other  cases  the  English  translation  is  preferred,  save  in 
the  rare  instances  when  a  title  such  as  Les  Precieuses 
ridicules  is  translatable  only  in  a  circumlocutory  way. 
French  rules  of  capitalisation  differing  from  our  own, 
the  method  adopted  by  MM.  Despois  and  Mesnard  in 
their  edition  of  Moliere's  works  has  been  used  in  the 
printing  of  French  titles. 

The  bibliography  contains  the  titles,  authors,  and, 
whenever  possible,  the  original  date  of  publication  of  the 
works  consulted  or  quoted  in  the  preparation  of  this 
volume.  The  authorities  for  important  passages  are 
given  in  the  footnotes. 

In  nearly  every  case  it  has  been  possible  to  examine 
and  compare  the  passages  cited  with  the  original  authori- 
ties ;  but,  being  compelled  by  illness  to  leave  France  be- 
fore the  work  was  completed,  here  and  there  reliance  has 
been  placed  upon  the  readings  in  the  definitive  edition 
of  Moliere's  plays  (CEuvres  de  Moliere,  Collection  des 
Grands  Ecrivains  de  la  France)^  the  earlier  volumes  of 
which  appeared  under  the  editorship  of  M.  Eugene 
Despois,  the  work  after  his  death  being  carried  to  superb 
completion  by  M.  Paul  Mesnard. 

The  reader  seeking  original  sources  will  find  the  prin- 
cipal of  these  in  La  Grange's  famous  Registre ;  in  the 
preface  to  the  edition  of  Moliere's  works  edited  by  La 
Grange  and  Vinot  and  published  in  1682  ;  in  Moliere's 
biography  by  J.-L.  le  Gallois,  known  more  generally  as  the 


AUTHOR'S   PREFACE  xiii 

"  Sieur  de  Grimarest "  ;  in  the  biography  attributed  to 
Bruzen  de  la  Martiniere,  and  in  the  biographical  sketches 
made  by  Perrault  and  Bayle.  To  these  should  be  added 
the  gossipy  chronicles  of  Tallemant  des  Reaux,  De  Vize, 
Loret,  Robinet,  Brossette,  and  other  contemporaries  of 
Moliere,  as  well  as  two  scurrilous  libels  written  by  the 
poet's  enemies,  details  of  which  are  fully  set  forth  in. 
Chapter  II.  When  a  few  historical  works,  such  as  the 
histories  of  the  French  stage  of  the  period  by  Chappu- 
zeau  and  the  Brothers  Parfaict  have  been  added,  together 
with  the  invaluable  documentary  discoveries  of  Beffara, 
Jal,  and  Soulie,  a  fairly  complete  repository  of  knowledge 
regarding  Moliere  has  been  catalogued. 

Although  there  have  been  many  modern  French  biog- 
raphers of  the  poet  since  Taschereau,  the  first  of  them, 
the  Notice  biographique  of  M.  Paul  Mesnard  (Vol.  X, 
CEuvres  de  Moliere)  is  by  far  the  most  scholarly  and 
trustworthy  ;  next  in  accuracy  is  M.  Louis  Moland's  La 
Vie  de  J.-B.  P.  Moliere,  while  from  the^human  point  of 
view  M.  Gustave  Larroumet's  La  Commie  de  Moliere  is 
decidedly  the  most  interesting.  Mention  should  be 
made,  too,  of  the  Molieriste  magazine,  so  ably  edited  for 
ten  years  (1879-1889)  by  M.  Georges  Monval,  the  dis- 
tinguished archivist  of  the  Comedie  Francaise  and  this 
same  writer's  Chronologic  Moli'eresque.  Le  Theatre fran^ais 
sous  Louis  XIV  by  Eugene  Despois  is  another  work  in- 
valuable to  students. 

The  reader  wishing  to  pursue  further  the  study  of 
Moliere  in  English  will  find  Mr.  Henry  M.  Trollope's 
The  Life  of  Moliere  a  painstaking  and  accurate  work, 
and  Moliere  and  his  Times  by  the  Danish  writer  Karl 
Mantzius  (English  translation  by  Louise  von  Cossel),  a 
pleasing  and  scholarly  treatise  upon  the  French  stage  of 


xiv  AUTHOR'S   PREFACE 

the  seventeenth  century.  A  charming  and  accurate 
picture  of  the  theatrical  life  of  the  period  may  be  found 
in  Shakespeare  in  France  by  his  Excellency  J.  J.  Jusse- 
rand,  the  present  ambassador  of  France  to  the  United 
States.  Although  no  edition  of  Moliere's  plays  at  once 
satisfactory  and  complete  has  yet  appeared  in  English, 
the  translation  by  Miss  Katherine  Prescott  Wormeley  is 
decidedly  the  best. 

A  word  upon  the  illustrations.  Aided  by  M.  Georges 
Monval,  the  artist,  M.  Jacques  Onfroy  de  Breville 
(JoB),  has  examined  the  original  documents  and  plates 
contained  in  the  archives  of  the  Comedie  Francaise,  the 
Bibliotheque  nationale,  etc.  Moreover,  the  costumes  of 
the  Comedie  Fran9aise  and  the  Theatre  de  1'Odeon  have 
been  placed  at  his  disposal.  The  famous  arm-chair 
from  Gely's  barber  shop  at  Pezenas,  known  as  the 
fauteuil  de  Moliere,  and  the  interior  of  the  shop  have 
been  reproduced  in  the  illustration  representing  Moliere 
in  the  role  of  amateur  barber;  while  for  the  drawing  in 
which  he  and  the  poet  Bellocq  are  making  the  King's 
bed,  the  room  of  Louis  XIV  in  the  palace  at  Versailles 
having  been  altered  considerably  in  1701,  the  original 
architect's  drawing  in  the  Estampes  nationales  was  used 
for  the  decorative  features.  In  the  sketch  depicting 
Armande  Bejart  in  Moliere's  room,  the  furniture  and 
effects  have  been  reproduced  from  the  description  given 
in  the  inventory  of  the  poet's  property  made  a  few 
weeks  after  his  death  ;  in  fact  in  every  instance  the  artist 
has  used  the  utmost  care  in  making  his  illustrations 
historically  exact. 

Having  been  aided  in  the  gathering  of  my  material  by 
the  invaluable  assistance  of  M.  Jules  Claretie,  director  of 
the  Comedie  Francaise,  M.  Leopold  Mabilleau,  director 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE  xv 

of  the  Musee  Social  ,  M.  Georges  Monval,  archivist  of 
the  Comedie  Francaise  and  M.  Truffier,  a  notable  sod- 
etaire,  I  wish  to  take  this  opportunity  of  thanking  these 
distinguished  Frenchmen  for  their  courtesy.  To  Mr. 
Wallace  Rice  I  am  indebted  for  technical  suggestions 
regarding  the  metrical  translations  ;  to  Professor  Crane  I 
wish  to  express  my  gratitude  for  the  encouragement  and 
help  he  has  extended  me  throughout  the  preparation  of 

this  work. 

H.  C.  CHATFIELD-TAYLOR. 

LAKE  FOREST,  ILLINOIS, 
July  fir  sty  1906. 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  Age  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  is  attracting  just  now 
the  attention  of  the  "general  reader"  through  the 
translation  of  memoirs  and  such  brilliant  historical 
monographs  as  Madame  Barine's  Youth  of  la  Grande 
Mademoiselle  and  Louis  XIV.  and  la  Grande  Mademoiselle. 
Society  at  Versailles  and  in  the  salon  of  the  Hotel  de 
Rambouillet  is  fairly  well  known,  and  the  visits  of  French 
actors  to  this  country  maintain  a  certain  degree  of  ac- 
quaintance with  the  classical  drama  of  the  seventeenth 

century. 

Interesting  as  is  the  political  history  of  that  period, 
its  social  and  literary  history  is  even  more  attractive  and 
instructive.  It  was  during  this  time  that  modern  polite 
society  was  constituted  and  conversation  raised  to  the 
level  of  an  art.  Literature,  abandoning  the  slavish  imita- 
tion of  antiquity  which  characterised  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, followed  the  models  of  Greece  and  Rome  in  a  free 
and  independent  manner,  and  no  matter  how  classical 
may  be  the  form  of  this  literature  it  is  the  exact  reflection 
of  the  national  spirit. 

To  understand  this  literature,  then,  we  must  bear  in 
mind  some  of  the  characteristics  of  the  monarchy  under 
Louis  the  Fourteenth.  That  king,  it  is  true,  has  quite 
erroneously  received  the  entire  credit  for  the  literature 
and  art  developed  in  the  previous  reign  under  the  en- 
lightened patronage  of  Richelieu.  Still,  no  great  injus- 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

tice  is  done  to  Louis  the  Thirteenth  or  to  Richelieu  in 
attributing  the  glory  of  Corneille  to  the  Age  of  Louis 
the  Fourteenth.  It  was  the  latter  monarch  who  settled 
the  political  and  religious  quarrels  which  had  come  down 
from  his  father's  reign,  and  established  the  most  absolute 
and  unquestioned  regime  of  modern  times.  Some  of  the 
results  of  this  regime  are  the  absence,  until  late  in  the  reign, 
of  political  and  religious  discussion,  and  an  attitude  toward 
the  person  of  the  monarch  little  short  of  adoration.  As 
society  is  excluded  from  intellectual  activity  involving 
politics  and  religious  controversy,  it  is  forced  to  direct 
its  attention  to  itself  and  to  examine  its  constituent  parts. 
Never  have  there  been  such  absorbing  study  of  mankind 
and  such  profound  knowledge  of  the  human  heart.  The 
maxims  of  La  Rochefoucauld  resume  the  interminable 
discussions  of  the  drawing-room  upon  the  mainsprings 
of  human  action,  and  the  interest  of  Corneille's  dramas 
is  largely  an  ethical  one  arising  from  the  conflict  of  duty 
and  inclination.  The  large  and  varied  literature  repre- 
senting this  tendency  of  the  age  will  always  preserve 
its  universal  interest,  and  Pascal,  La  Bruyere,  and  La 
Rochefoucauld  belong  to  the  literature  of  the  world. 

Next  in  interest  is  the  dramatic  literature  of  the  period, 
which,  with  the  exception  of  one  author,  finds  with  diffi- 
culty appreciation  among  English  readers.  It  is  usual 
to  attribute  the  fact  to  the  form  of  the  French  classical 
drama  and  to  the  failure  of  the  attempt  to  naturalise 
this  form  in  England.  A  French  classical  tragedy 
represents  one  action  which  takes  place  within  twenty- 
four  hours  in  one  locality.  The  result  of  the  compres- 
sion of  the  action  is  that  the  French  tragedy  begins  with 
the  denouement  of  the  Shakespearean  tragedy,  for  ex- 
ample ;  the  result  of  the  rule  of  the  one  locality  is  that 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

all  events  which  do  not  occur  in  the  prescribed  spot,  and 
there  must  necessarily  be  many  such,  have  to  be  narrated 
and   not   represented.     For   this   reason,  and    from   the 
French   fondness  for  declamation,  monologues   abound 
and  check  the  feeble  current  of  action.     The  outward 
form  of  the  play,  the  Alexandrine  verse  of  twelve  sylla- 
bles, with   its   obligatory   pause  at    the  sixth,   and   the 
couplets  rhyming  alternately  in  masculine  and  feminine 
rhyme  (that  is,  with  rhymes  containing  an  e  mute,  and 
those  which  do  not)  seems  monotonous  and  sing-song. 
In  addition  to  all  this,  for  reasons  which  cannot  be  given 
here,  the  subjects  of  French  tragedy  were,  in  the  seven- 
teenth   century,    taken    exclusively    from    Bible    (Old 
Testament)  history  or  from  Greek  and  Roman  history 

and  legend. 

We  often  wonder  how  plays  so  artificial  could  have 
interested  (and  we  know  that  they  did)  French  audi- 
ences for  so  long  a  period.  It  must,  however,  always 
be  remembered  that,  artificial  as  these  plays  were,  they 
were  instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  times.  The  grandiose 
reign  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  found  its  expression  in  the 
sonorous  verse  and  lofty  sentiments  of  Corneille's  heroes, 
while  Racine  reflected  the  gallantry  of  the  age  in  his 
somewhat  languishing  Greeks  and  Romans.  In  the 
tragedies  of  both  the  characters  spoke  the  artificial  lan- 
guage of  the  day,  and  Moliere  himself,  even  when  he 
was  ridiculing  this  affectation,  could  not  escape  from  it. 

The  limitations  of  French  classical  tragedy  apply 
equally  to  the  comedy  of  the  seventeenth  century,  but 
not  with  the  same  injurious  effects.  The  author  is  not 
confined  to  historical  or  quasi-historical,  plots,  but  may 
invent  or  borrow  plots  to  suit  his  purpose.  He  may 
also  abandon  the  form  of  verse  and  employ  prose,  but  he 


xx  INTRODUCTION 

will  run  the  risk  of  offending  the  taste  of  his  audience 
if  he  uses  prose  for  anything  but  farce.  Comedy,  then, 
is  a  freer  form,  and,  as  it  deals  with  ordinary  mortals  and 
not  with  kings  or  heroes,  is  of  more  universal  interest 
than  tragedy.  Then,  too,  French  comedy  is  not  an 
exotic  plant  like  classical  tragedy,  but  is  the  regular 
development  of  elements  as  old  as  French  literature 
itself.  Between  French  classical  tragedy  and  the  serious 
drama  of  the  middle  ages  lies  the  gulf  of  the  Renaissance: 
the  comic  drama  has  an  unbroken  history.  It  required, 
however,  a  long  series  of  efforts  to  raise  the  mediaeval 
farce  to  the  dignity  of  comedy  and  to  free  it  from 
the  influence  of  Italy.  Here,  again,  the  genius  of 
Corneille  made  itself  felt,  and  Le  Menteur  (1642)  is 
as  epoch-making  as  the  Cid  (1636). 

For  these  and  other  reasons  French  comedy  is  more 
intelligible  and  attractive  to  the  foreign  reader  than 
French  tragedy,  and  the  one  great  writer  of  comedy, 
Moliere,  has  peculiar  claims  to  his  interest. 

The  fame  of  Moliere,  even  in  France,  has  over- 
shadowed the  glory  of  Corneille  and  Racine,  and  out  of 
France  Moliere  is  now  the  only  one  of  the  great  trium- 
virate familiar  to  those  who  are  not  students  of  French 
literature.  There  is  in  France  and  out  of  France  a  cult 
of  Moliere,  just  as  there  is  a  cult  of  Dante,  Shakespeare, 
Goethe,  and  Browning.  The  cause  of  this  pre-eminence 
of  Moliere  must  be  sought  not  only  in  his  works  but 
in  his  life. 

The  greatest  dramatist  of  the  modern  world  and  the 
one  whom  the  French  would  willingly  place  at  his  side 
were  both  actors  as  well  as  writers  of  plays,  and  so  great 
is  the  glamour  of  the  stage  that  Shakespeare  and  Moliere 
are  far  more  interesting  characters  to  us  than  Marlowe  or 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

Webster  or  Corneille  or  Racine.  Of  the  two,  Moliere  is 
in  our  minds  the  one  more  intimately  associated  with  the 
stage.  From  the  time  he  was  twenty-one  to  the  very 
day  of  his  death  in  his  fifty-first  year  he  was  acting  con- 
stantly, and  for  nine  years  he  was  the  husband  of  an 
actress.  Of  Shakespeare's  career  as  an  actor  we  know 
almost  nothing,  but  from  1658  to  1673  we  can  follow 
Moliere  almost  from  day  to  day  in  his  theatrical  roles. 
We  have  the  description  of  his  acting  by  his  contempora- 
ries and  his  own  defence  of  his  method.  We  possess 
even  portraits  of  him  in  his  serious  and  comic  parts. 
Indeed,  the  story  of  Moliere's  life  is  largely  the  history  v 
of  his  company,  and  his  comedies,  on  which  his  fame 
rests,  were  due  to  the  exigencies  of  his  position  as 
manager.  The  publicity  of  the  actor's  profession  is  the 
greatest  of  its  many  disadvantages,  and  the  man  is  usu- 
ally lost  in  the  player.  This  is  the  case  with  Moliere, 
and  we  catch  glimpses  only  of  his  private  character. 

But  from  whatever  standpoint  we  regard  it,  the  life  of 
Moliere  was  singularly  interesting,  and  for  fifteen  years 
belongs  almost  to  the  public  history  of  France.  This 
life  falls  under  three  divisions :  the  first  twenty-one  years 
(1622-1643)  °f  general  education,  and  it  is  always  well 
to  remember  that  Moliere  enjoyed  the  best  training 
of  his  times;  the  fifteen  years  (1643-1658)  of  appren- 
ticeship to  his  profession,  twelve  of  them  spent  as  a 
wandering  actor  in  the  provinces ;  and  the  last  fifteen 
years  (1658—1673)  of  managerial  success  and  literary 
glory  in  Paris.  It  is  these  fifty-one  years  of  toil,  dis- 
couragement, and  fame  which  Mr.  Chatfield-Taylor  has 
undertaken  to  depict  in  the  following  work,  and  I  may 
say,  since  these  lines  will  not  meet  his  eye  until  after 
publication,  that  I  think  he  has  accomplished  his  diffi- 


xxii  INTRODUCTION 

cult  task  with  singular  success,  and  has  given  a  vivid 
and  correct  picture  of  Moliere  the  Man,  the  Actor,  and 
the  Dramatist. 

The  materials  for  these  three  phases  of  Moliere's  life 
are  not  equally  profuse  or  important.  There  are  gaps 
that  we  can  fill  only  by  the  exercise  of  our  imagination, 
—  a  dangerous  factor  in  biography.  We  often  lament 
our  limited  knowledge  of  Shakespeare's  private  life  and 
character,  although  the  materials  for  forming  an  impres- 
sion of  them  are  not  so  scanty  as  is  generally  supposed. 
We  must  remember  that  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries  the  actor's  profession  was  under  a  social  ban, 
and  it  did  not  occur  to  Shakespeare's  or  Moliere's  con- 
temporaries to  preserve  their  memories  as  they  did 
those  of  statesmen  and  warriors.  Grimarest,  the  author 
of  the  first  independent  biography  of  Moliere  (1705), 
was  criticised  because  "  he  had  taken  as  much  pains  with 
his  work  as  if  it  had  been  the  life  of  a  hero,"  and  was 
taxed  with  ignorance  of  etiquette  in  calling  Moliere 
Monsieur,  "  a  title  which  did  not  at  all  belong  to  him, 
as  he  was  an  actor,  that  is  to  say,  a  man  of  an  ignoble 
profession."  It  is  unfortunate  that  most  of  the  per- 
sonal details  concerning  Moliere  are  due  to  his  enemies, 
but  when  used  with  proper  care  they  tell  us  much  that 
is  valuable  and  interesting  about  Moliere's  appearance 
and  manner  of  acting,  and  even  contain  historical  infor- 
mation which  we  should  seek  in  vain  elsewhere. 

Still,  as  has  already  been  said,  there  are  in  Moliere's 
history  unfortunate  gaps  that  we  cannot  fill.  We  are 
not  acquainted  with  the  particulars  of  his  early  life  and 
education ;  his  first  theatrical  ventures  are  obscure ;  the 
long  years  spent  in  the  provinces  are  known  largely  by 
civil  and  notarial  documents  establishing  the  presence  of 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

Moliere  and  his  company  in  a  certain  locality  at  a  certain 
date.  After  the  final  return  to  Paris  in  1658  we  are 
embarrassed  by  the  profusion  of  materials,  dealing,  it  is 
true,  almost  exclusively  with  the  management  of  the 
company  and  the  literary  life  so  inseparably  connected 
with  it.  With  Monval's  convenient  chronology  of  Mo- 
liere (Chronologic  Molieresque,  Paris,  1897)  in  his  hand, 
the  reader  can  follow  year  by  year  the  life  of  the  great 
dramatist  from  his  birth  to  his  death,  and  woven  in 
with  it  the  synchronous  social,  political,  and  literary 
events  of  the  period.  To  the  student  who  knows  thor- 
oughly these  three  phases  of  the  age  such  a  chrono- 
logical table  might  well  be  the  most  satisfactory  life  of 
Moliere,  but  the  "  general  reader  "  must  have  this  knowl- 
edge supplied  to  him  in  a  judicious  form,  and,  above 
all,  must  have  Moliere  brought  for  him  into  proper 
relations  with  his  times. 

This  is  no  easy  task  for  the  biographer.  He  must 
retrace  the  history  of  the  drama  in  order  that  we  may 
understand  the  peculiar  forms  of  Moliere's  plays  and  the 
milieu  in  which  the  actor  lived.  He  must  depict  the 
society  which  Moliere  satirised  and  describe  the  literary 
movements  of  the  day.  The  biographer  will  be  tempted 
to  lay  undue  stress  upon  some  one  of  the  phases  of 
Moliere's  life  according  to  his  own  tastes  and  interests. 
Moliere  the  Man  and  Actor  will  be  lost  in  the  Dramatist, 
or  will  appear  only  as  a  figure  in  the  history  of  the 
French  stage.  These  seem  to  me  the  faults  of  the  two 
most  recent  works  devoted  to  Moliere.  One  is  over- 
loaded with  literary  and  financial  details  concerning  the 
separate  plays,  the  other  conveys  no  idea  of  the  personal- 
ity of  Moliere. 

The  author  of  the  present  life  of  Moliere  has  long 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

been  a  serious  student  of  the  French  drama,  and  it  is 
pleasant  for  the  writer  of  these  lines  to  recall  the  time 
when  Mr.  Chatfield-Taylor  was  his  pupil  at  Cornell 
University  in  classes  devoted  to  the  study  of  French 
society  and  literature  in  the  seventeenth  century.  Our 
biographer  has  been  able  to  pursue  this  study  since  in 
the  home  of  Moliere  and  to  collect  everything  of  value 
relating  to  his  subject.  The  result  is  a  life  of  Moliere 
both  scholarly  and  popular,  in  which  the  man  stands 
out  vividly  in  the  midst  of  his  managerial  and  literary 
labours. 

Mr.  Chatfield-Taylor's  book  cannot  fail  to  interest 
even  the  reader  who  knows  no  French,  and  should  be  an 
incentive  to  acquiring  a  knowledge  at  first  hand  of  plays 
which  are  not  particularly  difficult  to  read  in  the  original. 
This  is  certainly  true  of  the  plays  in  prose ;  the  plays  in 
verse  are  naturally  more  difficult,  but  they,  or  similar 
plays,  are  read  by  pupils  in  our  schools  after  a  year's 
study  of  French. 

Prolonged  study  of  the  seventeenth  century  in  France 
has  impressed  me  more  and  more  with  its  extraordi- 
nary social  and  literary  interest,  to  say  nothing  of  its 
picturesque  political  history.  A  great  mass  of  memoirs 
and  letters,  many  of  them  of  the  highest  literary  value, 
enable  the  reader  to  form  a  vivid  idea  of  the  period. 
Moliere,  above  all,  presents  the  most  perfect  picture 
of  the  society  of  the  Age  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  in  its 
various  aspects.  And  this  picture  is  ever  fresh  and 
attractive  because  its  interest  depends  on  the  portrayal  of 
the  immutable  passions  of  the  human  heart.  The  Miser, 
the  Misanthrope,  the  Hypocrite,  the  Coxcomb,  the 
Pedant,  the  Quack,  the  Parvenu,  the  Bore,  the  Coquette, 
are  the  same  in  all  ages,  and  live  in  Moliere's  comedies 


INTRODUCTION  xxv 

with  a  real  personality  that  seems  almost  historical. 
Every  form  of  society  from  the  court  to  the  cabin 
is  unrolled  before  us  on  Moliere's  stage,  and  in  the 
Impromptu  of  Versailles  we  are  admitted  behind  the  scenes 
of  his  theatre.  By  the  performance  of  Les  Facbeux 
before  the  King  and  Fouquet  at  Vaux-le-Vicomte  (August 
15,  1661)  Moliere  is  connected  with  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  events  of  the  reign,  —  the  fall  of  the  great 
superintendent.  That  Moliere's  comedies  are  of  present 
interest  has  lately  been  shown  by  Mr.  Mansfield's  fine 
performance  of  the  Misanthrope.  May  we  not  hope  to 
see  him  revive  those  characters  which  are  so  much 
in  evidence  at  the  present  day,  The  Nouveau  Riche 
(Le  Bourgeois  Gentilbomme)  and  The  Club-Women  (Les 
Femmes  savantes). 

From  every  point  of  view,  then,  Moliere  is  worthy  of 
our  attention,  and  any  work  which  will  attract  readers  to 
him  should  be  welcomed,  especially  if  it  is  a  readable 
and  accurate  account  of  the  Man,  his  Times  and  his 
Work.  Such,  I  am  confident,  is  Mr.  Chatfield-Taylor's 
book,  and  I  am  glad  that  the  honour  of  producing 
such  a  work  has  fallen  to  an  American  writer. 

T.   F.   CRANE. 
ITHACA,  NEW  YORK, 
July  20,  1906. 


MOLlfeRE 

i 

CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 


99 

V 


"  WHAT  great  writer  has  most  honoured  my  reign  ? 
Louis  XIV  asked  Boileau  one  day.  "  Moliere,  sire," 
the  critic  answered ;  but  the  King  could  not  believe  that 
a  comedian  who  blackened  his  face  daily  to  produce  the 
moustache  of  Sganarelle  was  greater  than  Pascal,  La 
Bruyere,  La  Fontaine,  or  La  Rochefoucauld ;  greater 
than  Bourdaloue,  Fenelon,  or  Bossuet ;  greater,  even, 
than  Corneille,  or  Racine. 

Others  besides  Louis  XIV  may  take  issue  with  Boi- 
leau, but  none  will  deny  Moliere  a  place  among  the 
great  writers  of  France  of  every  age ;  and  surely  no  one 
has  arisen  to  challenge  his  supremacy  in  the  sphere  of 
comedy.  To  make  a  nation  laugh  through  centuries  is 
renown  enough  for  any  man. 

No  mere  comic  writer  could  have  called  forth  Boileau's 
tribute.  To  be  great  in  literature,  a  man  must  have  a 
heart  capable  of  intense  joy  and  infinite  sorrow,  and 
from  its  depths  must  come  thoughts  shared  by  all  man- 
kind. Sympathy  is  a  quality  conferred  by  suffering ; 
and  because  Moliere  suffered  bitterly,  his  characters 
are  living  men  and  women,  as  true  to-day  as  when  they 
were  drawn.  To  quote  Voltaire :  "He  possessed  a 
quality  apart  from  Corneille,  Racine,  Boileau,  and  La 


2  MOLlfiRE 

Fontaine.  He  was  a  philosopher  in  both  theory  and 
practice."  The  charm  of  his  plays  lies  in  their  human- 
ity  ;  but  to  appreciate  them  fully,  one  must  understand 
the  man  himself  and  the  times  in  which  he  lived. 

He  was  born  somewhere  in  the  heart  of  Paris  in  1622. 
On  the  fifteenth  of  January  of  that  year  he  was  baptised 
in  the  parish  church  of  St.  Eustache,  under  the  name 
of  Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin  (Moliere  being  aj>seudonym), 
ancT "since  Tf'was^customary  to  baptise  children  on  the 
day  of  their  coming  into  the  world,  this  may  have  been 
the  date  of  his  birth  as  well.  All  his  early  life,  however, 
is  much  shrouded  in  obscurity ;  and  a  wanderer  in  the 
streets  of  Paris  may  see  two  houses  each  bearing  a  tablet 
stating  that  it  was  built  upon  the  site  of  the  poet's  birth. 
One  is  in  the  rue  du  Pont-Neuf  (No.  31),  and  the  mis- 
guided enthusiasts  who  placed  a  bust  of  Moliere  above 
its  door  in  1799,  chose  a  spot  where  he  never  even 
dwelt  and  a  date  for  his  birth  two  years  amiss  (1620). 
The  other,  at  the  corner  of  the  rue  St.  Honore  and  the 
rue  Sauval,  formerly  called  the  rue  des  Vieilles-fetuves, 
unquestionably  stands  upon  the  site  of  the  house  where 
he  spent  the  years  of  his  childhood.  That  he  was  born 
there  is  probable,  but  not  certain.  In  1633  Moliere's 
father  purchased  another  house  under  the  arcades  of 
the  market-place.  It  was  situated  opposite  the  pillory, 
which  stood  a  few  steps  from  the  church  of  St.  Eustache; 
but  this  second  house  is  of  far  less  interest  than  the  one 
in  which  the  poet  passed  his  childhood. 

Of  more  importance,  however,  than  his  birthplace,  are 
the  times  in  which  he  lived  and  the  influences  surround- 
ing him  in  his  early  years.  He  was  Parisian  born  and 
bred,  and  he  grew  to  manhood  in  the  centre  of  the  life 
of  Paris  —  the  Paris  of  Richelieu,  a  city  of  about  five 


CHILDHOOD   AND   YOUTH  3 

hundred  thousand  souls  huddled  within  walls  which 
stood  where  the  boulevards  now  teem  with  life.  France, 
welded  to  a  state  by  Henry  IV,  was  being  drilled  in 
nationality  by  its  cardinal  martinet;  religious  wars  had 
already  rent  the  land,  and  the  bickerings  of  the  Fronde 
were  to  follow,  before  the  monarch  destined  to  be  called 
grand  should  rule. 

Moliere's  father,  Jean  Poquelin  by  name,  and  a  scion 
of  a  family  established  at  Beauvais  as  early  as  the  four- 
teenth century,  was  a  respectable  upholsterer  by  royal 
appointment  to  the  King  (valet  de  cbambre  tapissier  du 
roi).  His  shop  in  the  rue  St.  Honore,  near  the  market- 
place, was  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  seats  of  the 
mighty.  Standing  in  the  doorway,  young  Jean-Baptiste 
might  almost  see  Madame  de  Rambouillet  in  the  win- 
dow of  her  famous  blue  salon,  or  hear  the  fish-wives 
hawk  their  wares ;  and  there,  in  middle  class  Paris,  half- 
way  between  the  great  and  the  despised,  he_  passed  his 
boyhood  among  men  and  women  whose  types  he  was 
destined  to  immortalise. 

Jean  Poquelin,  the  elder,  was  a  man  of  importance  in 
the  shopkeeping  world.  His  father  had  likewise  been 
an  upholsterer,  and  his  wife's  father  as  well ;  so  his 
business,  as  was  customary  in  shopkeeping  families,  was 
inherited.  Hisjwife,  Marie_Cresse  by  name,  brought 
him  a  comfortable  dowry,  and,  being  also  a  tapissier  du 
roi>  he  had  a  certain  function  to  fulfil  at  court.  His 
younger  brother,  Nicolas,  had  held  this  appointment, 
but  in  1631  resigned  it  in  favour  of  the  poet's  father. 
Six  years  later,  on  December  eighteenth,  1637,  the 
reversion  of  the  office  was  settled  upon  the  future 
dramatist.  There  were  eight  of  these  royal  upholsterers 
among  the  domestic  officers  of  the  King's  household, 


MOLlfiRE 

each  receiving  a  salary  of  three  hundred  livres,  for  three 
months  annual  service  at  court ;  and  it  is  easy  to  see 
that  such  an  appointment  would  be  sought  by  all  well- 
to-do  burghers  of  the  upholsterer's  craft. 

Jean-Baptiste,  the  future  Moliere,  was  the  first  fruit 
of  the  marriage  of  Poquelin  the  upholsterer  with  Marie 
Cresse.  Five  other  children  followed,  with  the  usual 
middle  class  regularity,  and  when  the  mother  died  in 
May,  1632,  at  the  age  of  thirty-one,  Jean-Baptiste,  aged 
ten,  Jean,  aged  eight,  Nicolas,  aged  six,  and  Madeleine, 
aged  five,  survived  her.  His  brothers  and  sisters  had 
small  part  in  Moliere's  life,  and  need  no  further  men- 
tion ;  but  it  may  be  said,  in  passing,  that  Marie  Cresse 
left  an  inheritance  of  five  thousand  livres  to  each  of  her 
children,  and  that,  a  year  after  her  death  (Mav  30,  1633), 
her  husband  married  Catherine  Fleurette,  daughter  of  a 
bourgeois  merchant.  She  died  three  years  later,  leaving 
two  children  —  half  sisters  of  Moliere.  So  much  for  the 
bare  family  facts. 

The  Poquelin  house  in  the  rue  St.  Honore,  called  the 
monkey  pavilion  (le  pavilion  des  singes)^  was  a  bit  of  old 
Paris  made  curious,  even  in  those  times,  by  a  corner- 
post  carved  to  represent  a  band  of  pilfering  monkeys 
climbing  an  orange  tree  to  pluck  the  fruit ;  and  by  a  sug- 
gestive coincidence,  monkeys  have  occasionally  appeared 
from  very  ancient  times  as  symbols  of  comedy.  The 
shop  was  on  the  ground  floor,  and  behind  it  the  kitchen, 
serving,  probably,  for  a  dining-room  as  well.  Above  was 
a  loft,  and  over  the  shop  an  entresol  in  which  were  a  bed- 
room and  a  closet.  The  first  floor  was  used  for  storage ; 
the  room  over  the  shop,  looking  out  on  the  rue  St. 
Honore,  was  evidently  the  bedroom  of  Poquelin  and  his 
wife,  and,  possibly,  the  room  in  which  Moliere  was  born. 


CHILDHOOD   AND   YOUTH 

M.  Eudore  Soulie l  gives  a  description  of  this  apart- 
ment which  deserves  translation  : 

To  see  how  this  room  looked  and  to  form  an  idea 
of  its  occupants,  one  should  visit  the  Hotel  de  Cluny 
and  the  Louvre,  and  then  read  the  inventory  of  Marie 
Cresse's  effects,  made  at  the  time  of  her  death.  On  each 
side  of  the  fireplace  with  its  brass  andirons,  were  two 
small  wooden  seats  called  by  the  worthy  housewives  of 
the  seventeenth  century  caquetoires.  They  were  well 
worn  by  frequent  use  —  there  the  women  sat  to  gossip 
near  the  fire.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  reposed  a 
seven-legged  walnut  table,  covered  with  green  tapestry, 
a  rosette  de  Tournay ;  and  against  the  wall  stood  one  of 
those  old  cabinets,  now  so  rare,  in  which  the  most 
cherished  bric-a-brac  was  kept.  That  of  Marie  Cresse 
was  of  walnut,  with  a  marble  top ;  it  had  four  doors  with 
lock  and  key,  and  was  lined  with  Bruges  satin.  Against 
another  wall  lay  a  huge  chest,  covered  with  flowered  silk 
tapestry  and  used  to  hold  the  family  valuables.  Along 
the  walls  were  six  high-backed  upholstered  chairs,  and 
the  bed,  with  its  valance  of  lace-fringed  Mouy  serge  and 
silk  testers,  was  covered  with  a  counterpane  of  ceremony. 
In  the  ruelle^  or  space  beside  the  bed,  was  an  armchair, 
kept  for  guests  of  honour  —  the  doctor  or  the  father  con- 
fessor. Five  pictures  and  a  Venetian  glass  mirror  hung 
against  the  walls,  and  the  drapings  of  the  Poquelin  room 
were  of  Rouen  tapestry. 

Continuing,  M.  Soulie  remarks  that  "  the  furniture 
was  nothing  extraordinary  for  the  house  of  an  uphol- 
sterer, but  the  rest  of  the  family  belongings  surpassed 
in  rather  an  unexpected  manner  the  luxury,  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  to  say  the  comfort,  of  the  bedroom." 

An  inventory  of  the  family  effects  was  made  (January 
19-31,  1633)  after  Marie  Cresse's  death,  so  we  know 

1  Recbercbes  sur  Mo  Here. 


MOLltRE 

that  M.  Poquelin's  clothes  were  of  fine  black  or  gray 
Spanish  serge  with  gold  buttons,  and  that  his  wife  wore 
gowns  of  Neapolitan  taffeta,  gros-de-Naples,  Florentine 
ratteen,  or  changeable  watered  silk,  while  her  under- 
clothes were  of  the  finest  linen.  Marie  Cresse  had 
jewels  enough  to  put  many  a  modern  duchess  to 
shame,  —  bracelets,  necklaces,  pearl  ear-rings,  emeralds, 
and  rubies,  fourteen  rings  of  diamonds  and  opals,  and 
sufficient  bibelots  to  stock  a  curiosity  shop.  The  family 
had  embroidered  damask  napery,  too,  and  heavy  table 
plate  with  gilt  handles  and  feet,  while  the  least  of  the 
housekeeping  utensils  was  of  silver.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  Poquelins  were  well-to-do. 

Had  Jean-Bap tiste  been  content  to  accept  the  lot  of  a 
successful  shopkeeper,  his  only  care  need  have  been  to 
learn  his  father's  trade.  But  he  was  born  with  a  turbu- 
lent heart,  and  that  atmosphere  of  middle  class  respecta- 
bility, with  its  smell  of  upholstery  and  glue,  must  have 
stifled  him  even  in  childhood.  One  day  was  like  another. 
The  shop  must  be  opened  and  swept,  the  goods  arranged 
to  attract  purchasers,  orders  filled,  bills  collected,  and 
regular  meals  eaten  in  the  kitchen.  Yet  even  the 
narrowness  of  such  a  life  was  not  unblessed.  While 
watching  his  father's  customers,  young  Poquelin  learned 
to  know  the  capricious  ladies  of  the  aristocracy,  the 
bourgeoises  who  aped  court  manners,  the  fops,  the  un- 
couth burghers,  and  the  rascally  servants  —  in  a  word, 
the  characters  that  he  drew  so  inimitably. 

His  father,  too,  was  such  an  object  lesson  in  thrift  and 
the  strenuous  stultification  of  wit  that  many  writers  have 
tried  to  identify  him  with  Harpagon  in  Moliere's  play, 
The  Miser  (ZS./4vare).  Undoubtedly,  he  was  a  close- 
fisted  shopkeeper  who  counted  pennies,  or  his  business 


CHILDHOOD   AND   YOUTH  7 

would  not  have  thrived ;  but  he  lavished  upon  his  son  the 
most  liberal  education  that  money  could  buy,  and  once 
endorsed  a  note  to  save  him  from  a  debtor's  prison  ;  so  the 
stories  that  Moliere  was,  at  one  time,  an  abused  appren- 
tice in  a  miser's  shop,  must  be  taken  with  reservations. 

His  mother,  likewise,  is  a  woman  about  whom  little  is 
known,  except  that  her  parents  were  well-to-do.  At  the 
time  her  will  was  drawn  her  dowry  had  increased  con- 
siderably under  thrifty  management ;  and  we  know  she 
brought  six  children  into  the  world ;  while  the  books 
noted  in  the  inventory  of  her  effects  —  the  Bible  and  a 
set  of  Plutarch  —  indicate  that  she  had  thoughts  other 
than  those  of  scrimping  and  child-bearing.  There  was 
so  much  tenderness  in  Moliere's  nature,  sentiment  so 
deep,  that  one  likes  to  believe  his  mother  was  such  a 
woman  as  he  sought  for  in  vain  in  after  life. 

Marie  Cresse  died  when  her  eldest  son  had  reached  the 

age  of  ten.     The  years  from  eleven  till  fourteen  were 

passed  in  another  woman's  leading  strings  ;  and  it  has 

ibeen  hinted  that  Catherine  Fleurette,  his  father's  second 

Jwife,  was  the  original  of  Bfiline,.  the  heartless,  double- 

Ifaced  stepmother  in  The  Imaginary  Invalid  (Le  Malade 

\maginaire).     Even  dismissing   this  supposition  as  mere 

conjecture,  the  fact  remains  that  young  Poquelin  fretted 

in  parental  harness.     Such  a  lad  as  he  could  never  be 

content  in  a  sordid  shop  while  the  sun  was  shining  on 

bright  Paris ;  and  it  is  safe  to  venture  the  guess  that 

he  played  truant  whenever  chance  offered,  in  order  to 

roam  about  the  streets. 

Paris,  at  that  time,  was  not  the  well  paved,  tree  lined 
city  of  to-day,  but  a  maze  of  tangled  lanes.  It  was  the 
Paris  of  D'Artagnan,  where  gilded  coaches  heralded  by 
lackeys  crowded  passers-by  against  the  house  walls,  while 


8  MOLlfiRE 

the  cardinal's  musketeers  fought  for  an  unlucky  throw  of 
the  dice,  or,  it  might  be,  a  lady's  smile:  the  Paris  of 
misery,  too,  where  starving  peasants  trudged  behind  the 
panniers  of  overladen  donkeys,  and  fifty  thousand  beg- 
gars dragged  misshapen  forms  through  ill  smelling  streets  ; 
where  criminals  languished  in  the  stocks,  or  died  in  tor- 
ture on  the  Place  de  Greve. 

Around  the  corner  from  Jean  Poquelin's  shop  lay  the 
market-place,  where  the  pillory  stood  and  the  cut-purse 
thrived ;  and  there  beneath  the  rambling  arcades  mer- 
chants in  fine  mantles  chaffered  to  the  click  of  the  pew- 
terer's  hammer,  while  the  market  women  cried  their 
wares  in  the  open  square.  But  the  Pont-Neuf,  the  main 
artery  of  Paris,  must  have  delighted  young  Jean-Baptiste 
far  more.  While  busy  people  came  and  went  across  this 
bridge,  street  singers  trilled  their  ballads,  poets  recited 
pasquinades,  quacks  hawked  opiates  and  drugs,  clowns 
grimaced,  and  acrobats  tumbled  to  gaping  crowds.  There, 
in  that  throng  of  artisans,  students,  valets,  swashbucklers, 
grisettes,  and  wenches,  he  idled  away  many  an  hour ; 
for,  according  to  tradition,  he  acquired  his  first  taste  for 
comedy  on  the  Pont-Neuf.  Each  quack  had  a  troupe 
of  mountebanks  to  draw  him  custom.  The  plays  they 
gave  upon  their  crude  stages  were  screaming  farces,  with 
swaggering  bullies  or  thieving  servants  as  heroes,  and 
wives  who  deceived  their  husbands  as  heroines ;  rough 
frameworks,  or  canevas  as  they  were  called,  the  actor's 
ready  wit  supplying  the  lines  ;  and  these  may  easily  have 
served  as  models  for  Moliere's  earliest  work. 

The  Pont-Neuf  was  not  the  worst  of  schools.  Gaultier- 
Garguille,  Turlupin,  Guillot-Gorju,  and  Gros  Guillaume, 
all  famed  comedians  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  learned 
their  art  while  serving  as  mountebanks  for  its  quacks. 


H 

3" 
n 


CHILDHOOD   AND   YOUTH  9 

In  Moliere's  time  such  of'erateurs  as  Bary  and  L'Orvietan 
were  the  vogue,  so  the  lad  may  have  been  among  their 
ardent  admirers ;  and,  as  his  paternal  grandfather  owned 
two  booths  at  the  celebrated  fair  of  St.  Germain-des-Pres, 
another  haunt  of  charlatans  and  mountebanks,  he  was 
doubtless  a  frequent  spectator  at  the  theatre  of  the  fair 
as  well.1 

Grimarest's  Life  of  Moliere 2  having  been  used  by  Vol- 
taire as  a  basis  for  his  very  inaccurate  biography  of  le 
grand  comique,  as  Frenchmen  delight  in  calling  their 
dramatic  genius,  it  has  ever  since  been  the  fashion  to  dis- 
credit that  authority.  However,  as  Grimarest's  book  was 
published  only  thirty-two  years  after  Moliere's  death, 
when  comrades,  notably  Baron,  were  still  living,  it  seems 
only  just  to  give  him  some  degree  of  confidence  —  cer- 
tainly in  unrefuted  stories  like  the  following : 

Moliere  had  a  grandfather  who  loved  him  distractedly ; 
and,  as  this  good  man  had  a  passion  for  the  theatre,  he 
often  took  little  Poquelin  to  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne. 
His  father,  fearing  that  such  dissipation  would  spoil  the 
child  and  divert  his  attention  from  his  trade  to  other 
channels,  asked  the  good  man  one  day  why  he  took  his 
grandson  to  the  play  so  often.  "  Do  you  wish,"  said  he 
with  much  indignation,  "  to  make  him  a  comedian  ? " 
"  May  it  please  Heaven,"  the  grandfather  answered,  "that 

1  Le   Boulanger   de   Chalussay,  in    his  comedy   fclomire  bypocondre, 
accuses  Moliere  of  having  touted  (brigue)  Orvietan  ;  but  as  this  satirical 
play  was  intended  as  a   malicious  attack  upon  the  poet,  its  statements 
should  not  be  accepted  without  substantiation. 

2  La  Vie  de  M.  de  Moliere  by  J.-L.  Le  Gallois,  sieur  de  Grimarest, 
1705.      This  work  is  the  first  biography  of  the  poet.     Although  far  from 
trustworthy  in  the  matter  of  absolute  facts,  its  anecdotes  are  referred  to 
so  frequently  in  these  pages  that  it  has  seemed  unnecessary  to  burden  the 
footnotes  with  repetitions  of  the  title.     In  all  other  instances  Grimarest's 
name  in  the  text  has  been  deemed  sufficient  reference. 


io  MOLlfiRE 

he  become  as  good  a  comedian  as  Bellerose!"  (Belle- 
rose  being  a  famous  actor  of  the  day.)  This  reply  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  the  young  man,  and  since  he 
had  no  fixed  inclination  for  the  trade  of  upholsterer,  it 
aroused  a  distaste  for  it  in  his  heart.  As  his  grand- 
father wished  him  to  become  an  actor,  he  believed  that 
he  might  aspire  to  something  more  congenial  than  his 
father's  calling. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Grimarest  fails  to  identify  the 
grandparent  responsible  for  so  perverting  the  youthful 
mind;  and,  as  Moliere's  paternal  grandfather  died  in 
1626,  the  tempter  —  if  the  story  be  in  any  way  true  — 
must  have  been  the  maternal  grandfather,  Louis  Cresse; 
a  supposition  rendered  more  probable  by  the  fact  that 
the  latter  shared  with  Jean  Poquelin,  the  elder,  the 
executorship  of  Marie  Cresse' s  estate,  and  was,  in  con- 
sequence, one  of  the  guardians  of  the  heirs,  the  Poquelin 
children.  To  take  his  grandson  to  the  theatre  occasion- 
ally would  have  been  neither  heinous  nor  unnatural. 
Even  if  Louis  Cresse  were  not  fully  as  culpable  as 
Grimarest  paints  him,  it  does  not  need  a  far  stretch  of 
one's  imagination  to  picture  the  future  Moliere  standing 
beside  him  in  the  parterre  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne, 
and  gazing  with  open-eyed  intentness  at  the  ranting  actors 
of  the  time,  Bellerose  and  the  famous  Mondory,  "  than 
whom  no  man  ever  appeared  with  greater  splendour  on 
the  stage."  Besides,  there  was  Gros  Guillaume  to  make 
the  child,  tather  of  the  man,  laugh  till  his  little  sides 
split ;  and,  in  the  role  of  comic  doctor,  Guillot-Gorju, 
of  huge  peruke  and  pump  like  nose,  to  give  him  his 
first  impression  of  the  ridiculous  side  of  medicine,  his 
first  distaste  for  the  Faculty. 

The  reader  who  can  recall  the  first  act  in  M.  Ed- 


CHILDHOOD   AND   YOUTH  n 

mond  Rostand's  Cyrano  de  Eergerac  should  have  a  fairly 
accurate  impression  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  in 
Moliere's  youth.  Needless  to  say,  it  was  the  leading 
play-house  of  the  capital.  Its  actors,  glorying  in  the 
title  of  Troupe  royale  des  com'ediens^  received  a  royal 
subsidy;  and,  unlike  the  tennis-court  theatres  of  that 
period,  this  play-house  occupied  a  spacious  hall,  and  had 
a  permanent  stage  and  boxes.  In  the  parterre,  or  pit, 
then  entirely  devoid  of  seats,  a  various  rabble  gathered, — 
lackeys,  soldiers,  artisans,  shopkeepers,  and  impecunious 
gentlemen ;  and  to  keep  the  quarrelsome  from  interfer- 
ing with  the  actors,  the  spectators  were  separated  from 
the  stage  by  a  barrier  at  the  height  of  a  man's  shoulder. 
Orange  girls  cried  refreshments  in  the  parterre,  ladies 
of  the  court  graced  the  boxes,  men  of  fashion  sat  upon 
the  stage;  crudely  painted  back  drops  sufficed  for  the 
scenery,  clusters  of  candles,  suspended  from  the  roof  by 
a  cord  and  pulley,  gave  the  stage  its  light ;  in  a  box, 
fiddlers  sat  bowing  wheezy  violins;  and  the  "dead  heads" 
of  the  day  —  the  King's  musketeers  —  were  so  quick  to 
draw  their  rapiers  that  riots  were  of  frequent  occurrence, 
and  duels  not  unknown :  such  in  brief  was  the  Hotel  de 
Bourgogne. 

Its  only  rival,  if  rival  it  might  be  called,  was  the 
Theatre  du  Marais  in  the  old  rue  du  Temple,  a  typical 
play-house  of  the  time,  situated  in  a  vacant  tennis-court, 
where  D'Orgemont,  husband  of  the  great  Turlupin's 
widow,  was  the  principal  actor.  Of  more  importance  to 
the  student  of  Moliere  was  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon,  r 
where  a  band  of  Italian  buffoons  held  the  boards,  and 
Tiberio  Fiurelli,  whose  stage  name  of  Scaramouche  is 
a  word  in  many  languages,  was  in  his  prime.  There 
is  a  tradition  that  the  transalpine  player  was  a  friend  of 


12  MOLlfeRE 

young  Poquelin's  and  gave  him  lessons  in  acting.  If 
this  histrionic  instruction  were  ever  given,  it  seems  most 
probable  that  it  was  after  Moliere's  return  to  Paris  from 
the  provinces,  in  1658  ;  but  the  discussion  of  this  may 
be  left  to  a  later  chapter.  That  Moliere  profited  by 
his  observations  of  Italian  mummery  and  play  construc- 
tion, is  proved  by  his  after  work.  Loitering  occasionally 
in  the  crowds  on  the  Pont-Neuf  or  standing  beside  his 
grandfather  in  the  pit  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  or  the 
Petit  Bourbon,  his  keen  young  mind  doubtless  received 
lasting  impressions ;  yet  he  was  obliged  to  spend  too 
many  years  at  school  to  have  had  much  leisure  for 
intimacy  with  buffoons  and  mountebanks. 

Since  the  young  nobles  usually  received  their  earlier 
education  at  home,  the  pupils  of  the  primary  schools 
were,  for  the  most  part,  sons  of  the  bourgeoisie.  When 
Moliere  entered  the  Jesuit  college  of  Clermont,  early  in 
his  teens,  he  must  have  had  previous  training  in  books, 
and,  if  he  held  to  the  habit  of  his  class,  it  was  received 
at  a  primary  school.  In  such  an  institution  the  life 
of  the  bourgeois  boy  was  irksome  to  a  degree.  His 
costume  was  a  simple  uniform  of  coarse  and  sombre 
cloth,  with  a  belt  about  the  waist ;  his  hair  was  never 
curled  or  perfumed,  and,  in  place  of  the  broad  felt  hat 
and  jack  boots  of  a  nobleman's  son,  he  wore  a  round 
cap  and  low  cut  shoes.  Instruction  in  manly  exercises 
was  denied  him  and,  likewise,  a  sword ;  his  holidays 
were  few,  and  he  had  but  a  single  hour  of  play  a  week, 
with  an  extension  in  summer  of  another  on  Tuesdays 
and  Thursdays.  Obliged  to  speak  Latin  during  such 
recesses,  he  was  forbidden  to  quarrel  or  to  strike  a  com- 
rade, and  his  punishment  varied  only  in  the  number 
of  lashes  administered  by  the  whipping  master,  or  the 


CHILDHOOD   AND   YOUTH  13 

length  of  time  he  might  be  condemned  to  a  diet  of  bread 
and  water. 

Charles  Sorel  gives  a  picture  of  the  schoolmasters  of 
the  time  which  should  inspire  deep  sympathy  for  their 
pupils : 

They  were  men  who  came  to  the  desk  from  the 
plough,  preparing  themselves  as  proctors  in  the  school 
hours  they  stole  from  the  service  of  their  masters,  or 
while  their  codfish  sizzled  over  the  fire.  They  contrived 
to  become  masters  of  arts  with  the  consultation  of  few 
books ;  but  they  did  not  know  what  civility  meant,  and 
a  lad  in  their  charge  must  be  born  good  and  noble  not 
to  be  corrupted.1 

If  Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin  was  taught  by  such  masters, 
he  learned  a  few  phases  of  human  nature,  to  say  the 
least ;  but  when  he  entered  the  Jesuit  college  of  Cler- 
mont  (since  called  the  college  of  Louis  le  Grand),  in 
the  rue  St.  Jacques,  he  was  to  be  envied  rather  than 
pitied.  Besides  being  the  most  fashionable  school  in 
the  capital,  it  was  also  the  best,  and  it  brought  him  in 
contact  with  a  superior  class  of  boys,  several  of  whom 
were  to  prove  life  long  friends. 

The  Jesuits,  long  persecuted  by  the  University  of 
Paris,  had  been  obliged  to  close  their  college  for  a  num- 
ber of  years  ;  but  the  King,  at  the  petition  of  the  nobility, 
reopened  it  by  Royal  Letters  Patent  in  161 8,  whereupon 
the  young  nobles  and  sons  of  the  upper  middle  classes 
flocked  thither  in  such  numbers  that  Clermont  soon  out- 
shone the  University,  its  rival. 

The  course  of  study  was  devoted  mainly  to  Latin 
classics:  Caesar,  Sallust,  Virgil,  Ovid,  Cicero,  the  poets 

1  La  Prate  bistoire  comique  de  Francion. 


i4  MOLlfeRE 

from  Horace  to  Juvenal ;  and,  of  far  more  importance  to 
a  future  dramatist,  the  comedies  of  Plautus  and  Terence. 
Greek  was  taught  less  thoroughly  ;  in  the  humanities,  the 
pupils  were  given  a  taste,  at  least,  of  the  best  Athenian 
authors,  possibly  Sophocles,  jEschylus,  and  Euripides ; 
and,  in  all  probability,  Moliere's  familiarity  with  the 
classic  drama  was  acquired  while  a  student  at  Clermont. 
There  was  one  feature  in  the  life  there  which  must  have 
played  a  part  in  the  development  of  his  peculiar  genius. 
Latin  dramas  were  acted  by  the  students  ;  the  professors, 
too,  occasionally  wrote  original  tragedies  and  comedies  to 
be  interpreted  by  their  pupils  ;  and,  although  no  verify- 
/ing  record  exists,  it  seems  more  than  likely  that  Moliere's 
first  appearance  as  an  actor  was  in  that  Jesuit  theatre. 

Because  His  Serene  Highness,  Armand  de  Bourbon, 
Prince  de  Conti,  brother  of  the  great  Conde,  and  a  cousin 

_^— *—•—•— •^—••^•""'^•^"•"^^^ 

ofthe  King,  became  Moliere's  patron  at  a  later  day,  he 
is  reputed  to  have  been  his  friend  at  school;  but  the 
royal  scion  was  nearly  eight  years  his  junior,  and  was 
rushed  through  his  humanities  with  such  sycophantic 
speed  by  his  masters  that  at  Clermont  he  must  have 
been  a  privileged  character,  holding  aloof  from  common 
lads.  When  he  came  to  school  escorted  by  a  retinue 
of  flunkeys  in  peach-coloured  liveries,  Jean-Baptiste 
doubtless  ridiculed  him  when  he  was  not  within  earshot, 
and  may  even  have  been  present  when  he  read  his  thesis 
to  Cardinal  Mazarin  from  a  dais  eleven  feet  high;  yet 
to  imagine  that  this  prince  of  the  blood  royal  and  an 
upholsterer's  son  were  ever  intimates  is  to  trifle  with 
probability. 

About  Moliere's  acquaintance  with  some  fellow  pupils 
of  more  congenial  tastes  less  doubt  exists.  Claude 
Chapelle,  natural  son  of  Luillier,  maitre  des  comptes,  and 


CHILDHOOD   AND   YOUTH  15 

a  wit  and  dandy  of  society,  and  probably  Francis  Ber- 
nier,  the  great  traveller  and  doctor  to  the  Grand  Mogul, 
together  with  the  poet  Hesnault,  truest  friend  of  Fouquet 
in  the  hour  of  his  disgrace,  formed,  with  young  Poquelin, 
a  coterie  of  kindred  spirits.  When  Luillier,  Chapelle's 
father,  persuaded  his  friend  Gassendi,  the  epicurean,  to 
take  his  son  as  a  pupil,  Bernier,  Hesnault,  and  Jean- 
Baptiste  Poquelin,  were  admitted  to  the  philosopher's 
school  as  well.  Soon  that  eccentric  P'erigourdin  of  tumid 
nose,  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  also  joined  Gassendi's  classes. 
The  philosopher  having  been  absent  from  Paris  about 
seven  years,  returned  in  February,  1641,  and  in  March 
was  a  guest  of  Luillier,  an  old  time  friend  with  whom  he 
had  once  made  a  journey  through  Holland.  During  the 
previous  year,  De  Bergerac,  wounded  at  Arras  and  forced 
to  leave  the  military  service,  developed  a  passion  for 
philosophy;  so  1641  is  apparently  the  year  when  these 
five  famous  men  studied  with  the  epicurean. 

"If  Moliere  was  a  good  humanist,"  says  the  preface  to 
the  first  complete  edition  of  his  works  (1682),  "he  be- 
came a  still  better  philosopher;  and  his  inclination  for 
poetry  made  him  read  the  poets  with  particular  care,  so 
he  knew  them  thoroughly,  above  all,  Terence."  If  such 
were  his  tastes  he  could  have  chosen  no  better  master 
than  Gassendi. 

The  philosopher  was  a  lover  of  the  beautiful,  who  be- 
lieved that  the  lot  of  a  man  of  letters  was  the  best  in  the 
world.  Gassendi  had  learned  by  heart  a  quantity  of 
French  and  Latin  verse  which  it  was  his  habit  to  recite 
to  his  pupils  while  walking.  "  Beautiful  poems  learned 
and  recited  daily,"  he  said,  "  elevate  the  mind,  ennoble 
the  style  of  those  who  write,  and  inspire  grandiose  senti- 
ments." Lucretius  was  his  favourite  author,  and  the 


16  MOLlfiRE 

effect  of  this  epicurean  poet  upon  his  pupils  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  trace.  Hesnault1  translated  the  invocation  to 
Venus,  and  Moliere  paraphrased  a  passage  on  the  blind- 
ness of  love,  which,  years  later,  found  a  place  in  The  Mis- 
anthrope. Chapelle,  le  grand  ivrogne  du  Maraisy  as  he 
was  called,  became  the  most  epicurean  of  Gassendi's 
pupils,  at  least  in  the  popular  acceptance  of  the  word ; 
but  Moliere,  although  he  led  an  actor's  life,  evinced,  on 
more  than  one  occasion,  somewhat  strenuous  habits,  and 
was  decidedly  more  of  a  Cartesian  than  a  follower  of  his 
early  master's  teachings. 

Luillier  was  a  good  liver,  who,  together  with  his  poet 
friends,  Desbarreaux  and  Colletet,  may  readily  have 
initiated  his  son  Chapelle  and  comrades  in  the  delights 
of  epicureanism ;  and  no  doubt  The  Service  and  Fir 
Cone,  The  Lorraine  Cross,  and  The  Green  Oak,  all 
famous  taverns  of  the  day,  rang  to  the  laughter  of  these 
young  lovers  of  the  joys  of  life  and  verse.  But  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  habits  of  his  friends,  Jean- 
Baptiste  Poquelin's  life  was  not  entirely  devoted  to 
/  revelry,  for,  upon  leaving  Gassendi's  classes,  he  made  a 
pretence,  at  least,  of  studying  law. 

Le  Boulanger  de  Chalussay2  says  that  Moliere  took 
his  licentiate  degree  in  law  at  Orleans,  "where  any 
donkey  could  buy  a  diploma,  but  only  went  to  the  law 
courts  once";  while  the  preface  of  1682  states  that 
"  after  leaving  the  law  schools  he  chose  the  profession 
of  comedian."  In  1641  Moliere  was  studying  philoso- 
phy, while  late  in  January,  1643,  he  had  taken  his  first 

1  M.  Paul  Mesnard  considers  the  evidence  that  Hesnault  was  a  mem- 
ber of  Gassendi's  class  too  slight  for  acceptance ;  on  the  other  hand,  he 
presents  no  evidence  to  contradict  a  long  established  tradition. 

2  filomire  bypocondre. 


CHILDHOOD   AND  YOUTH  17 

step  toward  the  stage;  so  his  intervening  law  studies 
must  have  been  more  desultory  than  serious. 

According  to  Grimarest,  "when  Moliere  finished  his 
studies  he  was  obliged,  on  account  of  his  father's  great 
age,  to  fulfil  his  duties  as  royal  upholsterer  for  a  while, 
and  consequently  made  a  journey  to  Narbonne  in  the 
suite  of  Louis  XIII." 

Moliere's  trip  to  Narbonne,  although  unverified,  has 
never  been  disproved;  but  Grimarest's  uncorroborated 
statements,  being  classed  as  mere  traditions,  have  been 
held  of  doubtful  authenticity;  especially  as  Poquelin,  the 
elder,  far  from  being  decrepit,  was  only  forty-seven  at 
the  time.  However,  the  upholsterer  was  occupied  with 
business  transactions  in  Paris  while  the  King  took  his 
eventful  journey  (1642),  and  the  reversion  of  the  office 
of  valet  de  chambre  tapissier  had  already  been  settled 
upon  his  son ;  so  the  theory  that  young  Poquelin  filled 
his  father's  post  on  this  occasion  is  based  on  more  than 
mere  conjecture. 

If  he  accompanied  the  King  through  the  South  in  an 
official  capacity,  Moliere  had  opportunity  to  learn  the 
flippant  and  servile  ways  of  courtiers,  their  ambitions  and 
jealousies,  and  to  witness  the  futile  but  tragic  end  of  a 
famous  conspiracy. 

On  the  twelfth  of  May,  Cinq-Mars  and  De  Thou  were 
arrested  at  Narbonne  for  plotting  Richelieu's  death ;  and 
an  attempt  has  even  been  made  to  identify  the  future 
dramatist  with  a  young  valet  de  chambre  who  tried  to 
conceal  Cinq-Mars  in  a  closet  and  circumvent  his  pur- 
suers. However,  the  proof  that  Moliere  played  this 
humane  role  is  quite  as  shadowy  as  the  evidence  that  he 
lodged  during  this  journey  with  one  Melchior  Dufort, 
a  worthy  bourgeois  of  Sigean,  who  at  a  later  day  is  sup- 


i8  MOLIERE 

posed  to  have  helped  meet  the  financial  difficulties  of  his 
strolling  theatrical  company. 

If  Moliere  at  the  age  of  twenty  travelled  in  the  King's 
suite,  to  be  in  the  fashion  he  must  have  played  the 
part  of  lover  as  well  as  courtier.  Perhaps  this  was  the 
case,  since  tradition  would  have  it  that  during  this 
journey  in  the  South  he  met  the  strolling  actress  destined 
to  lead  him  from  the  darkness  of  his  middle  class  exist- 
ence into  the  light  of  day.  But  this  early  love  affair  is 
so  thoroughly  a  part  of  Moliere's  theatrical  career  that  it 
must  be  related  in  connection  with  the  story  of  his  first 
appearance  on  the  stage. 


MADELEINE   BEJART  19 


II 

MADELEINE    BEjART   AND  THE   ILLUSTRIOUS 

THEATRE 

IN  telling  Moliere's  love  story  one  is  in  sore  straits  at  the 
outset.  That  posterity  might  be  interested  in  the  doings 
of  a  mere  actor  certainly  never  occurred  to  him  ;  for  with 
the  exception  of  his  plays  he  has  left  no  word  to  shed 
light  upon  himself.  Besides  a  few  contracts,  wills,  mar- 
riage licenses,  and  baptismal  records,  the  only  sources 
for  a  history  of  his  private  life  are  the  occasional  re- 
marks of  contemporary  gossips,  Grimarest's  untrustwor- 
thy biography,  and  the  slanders  of  enemies.  Two  of 
these  last  have  almost  attained  the  dignity  of  historical 
documents, 

One  is  a  satire  by  Le  Boulanger  de  Chalussay,  published 
in  1670,  and  entitled  Elomire  Hypochondriac ;  or,  The  Doc- 
tors Avenged  (Elomire  hypocondre  ou  les  medecins  venges)  — 
(Elomire  being  an  anagram  of  the  word  Molierej  and  the 
work  a  venomous  comedy  upon  the  poet's  lifei  The 
other  is  a  scandalous  attack  upon  his  wife  in  the  form  of 
a  pamphlet  called  The  Famous  Comedienne ;  or,  The  Story 
of  La  Guerin,  formerly  wife  and  widow  of  Moliere  (La 
Fameuse  comedienne,  ou  histoire  de  la  Guerin  auparavant 
femme  et  veuve  de  Moliere).  Guerin  was  the  name  of  the 
actor  Madame  de  Moliere  married  for  her  second  hus- 
band, and  this  libel  upon  her  character,  published  fifteen 
years  after  the  poet's  death,  was  so  abusive  that  the  anony- 


20  MOLIERE 

mous  author  was  obliged  to  print  it  in  a  foreign  country. 
In  spite  of  documentary  evidence  to  the  contrary,  the  vile 
charges  it  contains  have  been  accepted  wholly  or  in  part 
by  the  majority  of  Moliere' s  biographers.  Thus  intro- 
duced, let  the  gossips  and  slanderers  have  their  say. 

"  A  fellow  named  Moliere  left  the  benches  of  the  Sor- 
bonne  to  follow  Madeleine  Bejart.  He  was  long  in  love 
with  her,  gave  advice  to  her  troupe,  joined  it  finally,  and 
married  her."  Moliere  did  love  Madeleine  Bejart,  but 
he  was  not  a  student  of  the  Sorbonne,  and  he  did  not 
marry  her.  However,  when  Tallemant  des  Reaux 
jotted  down  this  bit  of  town  talk  in  his  Historiettes  (a 
collection  of  gossipy  tales  written  at  the  time,  but  not 
published  until  1833),  Moliere  was  only  an  obscure  actor ; 
so  the  wonder  is  that  his  humble  love  story  should  have 
been  found  worthy  of  record  at  all.  Now  let  the  slanderer 
speak : 

"  Madeleine  Bejart  was  the  pastime  of  a  number  of 
young  men  of  Languedoc,"  says  the  anonymous  author 
of  The  Famous  Com'edienne.  She  was  certainly  in  dalli- 
ance with  one  noble  of  the  court,  yet  if  all  that  libel  says 
of  her  be  true,  it  is  strange  that  the  name  of  only  one 
lover  besides  Moliere  has  been  chronicled.  How  easily 
one  young  man  of  Languedoc  might  be  magnified  until 
he  became  "a  number"  in  the  eyes  of  a  vilifier!  But 
to  pass  over  this  unpleasant  feature  of  her  life,  it  is  suffi- 
cient to  say  that  she  was  the  mistress  of  Esprit  de  Remond 
de  Mormoiron,  Baron  de  Modene,  a  young  nobleman 
of  the  county  Venaissin  and  gentleman-in-waiting  to  the 
Duke  of  Orleans.  She  bore  him  a  natural  child,  baptised 
on  the  eleventh  of  July,  1638,  under  the  name  of  Fran- 
9oise.  The  sponsors  were  Modene's  legitimate  son, 
Gaston,  and  Madeleine  Bejart's  own  mother ;  while  Jean- 


MADELEINE   BEJART  21 

Baptiste  Tristan  P  Hermite,  a  decayed  gentleman-actor, 
whose  daughter  later  became  Modene's  second  wife, 
stood  proxy  for  the  eight-year-old  godfather — leaving 
it  certainly  an  inclusive  family  affair,  and  an  interesting 
side  light  on  the  loose  manners  of  the  day. 

Nor  is  this  the  only  questionable  baptism  in  the  Bejart 
family.  The  parentage  of  Moliere's  wife,  Armande  Bejart, 
—  Madeleine's  sister  or  daughter,  as  the  case  may  be,  — 
is  still  a  question  for  debate ;  but  its  discussion  will  be 
left  to  another  chapter. 

The  date  of  Madeleine  Bejart's  birth,  January  eighth, 
1618,  is  recorded  in  the  parish  of  St.  Paul;  hence  she 
was  Moliere's  senior  by  four  years.  Her  father,  Joseph 
Bejart,  Sieur  de  Belleville,  was  a  petty  court  official  with 
the  untranslatable  title  of  Huissier  audienckr  a  la  grande 
maitrise  des  eaux  et  fortts,  si'egeant  a  la  table  de  marbre  du 
palais.  He  married  Marie  Herve  in  this  same  parish  of 
St.  Paul  on  the  sixth  day  of  October,  1615,  and  she  bore 
him  eleven  or  twelve  children,  of  whom  only  five  were 
living  when  he  died  in  the  spring  of  ^643,  — the  year  that 
Moliere  went  upon  the  stage.  All  these  surviving  chil- 
dren were  more  or  less  connected  with  the  poet's  life. 
Joseph,  the  eldest,  was  twenty-six,  possibly  twenty-seven, 
years  old  at  the  time  of  his  father's  death ;  Madeleine 
was  twenty-five ;  Genevieve,  another  sister,  was  probably 
about  nineteen ;  and  there  was  a  brother,  Louis,  aged 
thirteen,  as  well  as  an  unbaptised  baby,  —  this  last  a  fact 
to  be  remembered  in  the  future  discussion  concerning 
Moliere's  wife. 

The  fortune  of  Joseph  Bejart  must  have  consisted 
solely  in  debts,  for  the  widow  took  proceedings  on  March 
tenth,  1643,  *n  tne  name  of  herself  and  children  to  aban- 
don the  right  of  inheritance.  Perhaps  it  was  this  family 


22  MOLIERE 

poverty  which  made  the  eldest  son  and  daughter  adopt 
the  profession  of  the  stage ;  for,  like  his  sister,  Joseph 
Bejart  the  younger  was  a  strolling  player. 

Madeleine  has  been  painted  as  a  ne'er-do-weel  who  ran 
wild  in  the  streets  of  Paris  and  finally  joined  a  travelling 
theatrical  company ;  yet  all  the  evidence  points  to  a  time- 
filled,  hard-working  youth.  Her  father's  position  was 
honourable  if  not  lucrative,  while  his  brother  held  the 
office  of  Procureur  au  chatelet.  Her  family  lived  not  far 
from  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne ;  and  she  had  an  uncle 
who,  besides  being  a  bailiff,  managed  a  tennis-court,  —  in 
those  days  so  nearly  synonymous  with  theatre  that  she 
may  be  said  to  have  passed  her  youth  in  a  theatrical 
atmosphere. 

She  probably  went  upon  the  stage  at  seventeen  ;  but 
she  was  the  friend  of  Rotrou,  the  dramatist,  herself  wrote 
verses  in  his  honour,  and  there  is  a  tradition  that  one  or 
two  plays  by  her  were  performed  in  the  provinces ;  so 
the  idea  that  she  was  a  child  of  the  streets  is  certainly 
questionable.  Le  Boulanger  de  Chalussay  says  she  had 
reddish  hair ;  this  in  itself  indicates  temperament ;  but 
her  reason  for  adopting  a  stage  career  was  doubtless 
the  inborn  love  of  excitement  and  admiration  which 
has  inspired  many  an  actress. 

Whether  from  choice  or  necessity,  Madeleine  prob- 
ably wandered  through  the  provinces  with  a  strolling 
company ;  and  she  may  have  played  in  Paris  from 
time  to  time  at  some  outlying  theatre,  since  at  eighteen 
she  bought  and  occupied  a  small  house  in  the  Cul-de- 
sac  de  Thorigny.  Rotrou,  too,  in  the  same  year,  1636, 
published  as  dedication  to  his  tragedy,  The  Dying  Her- 
cules, these  verses  by  her : 


MADELEINE   BEJART  23 

Thy  dying  Hercules,  in  heaven  or  earth, 
Brings  glory  to  immortalise  thy  name  ; 
And  leaving  here  a  temple  to  thy  fame, 

His  pyre  becomes  an  altar  to  thy  birth. 

No  common  wanton  surely,  this  Madeleine  Bejart,  who 
could  write  verses  to  flatter  the  least  susceptible  great 
poet  of  the  day !  But  Rotrou  was  not  alone  in  think- 
ing well  of  her  attainments  :  Tallemant  des  Reaux  wrote 
in  his  Historiettes  that,  "  although  he  had  not  seen  her, 
he  understood  she  was  the  best  actress  of  them  all,"  —  a 
tribute,  indeed,  considering  that  she  never  appeared  at 
the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne. 

Her  protector,  the  Baron  de  Modene,  was  a  restless 
dare-devil  who  played  his  part  in  half  the  conspiracies 
and  intrigues  of  the  time.  His  master,  Gaston,  Duke 
of  Orleans,  a  brother  of  Louis  XIII,  spent  his  life  in 
plotting,  and  his  court  was  of  the  usual  Orleans  type,  —  a 
rendezvous  for  libertines  and  intriguers.  Modene  lived 
apart  from  his  wife,  and,  when  not  fighting  or  conspiring 
or  fleeing  from  justice,  spent  his  time  in  revelry  with  his 
royal  master  ;  so  he  could  hardly  have  been  faithful  either 
as  lover  or  husband.  Madeleine  is  supposed  to  have 
met  this  handsome,  turbulent  Lothario  in  Languedoc 
when  he  was  an  exile  from  court ;  and  there  is  a  story 
that  he  wooed  her  under  a  promise  of  marriage.  In 
view  of  her  later  fidelity  to  the  dramatist,  this  is  not 
difficult  to  believe ;  for,  with  the  exception  of  the  attacks 
of  libellers,  there  is  not  a  word  to  indicate  that  she  loved 
any  one  but  Modene  and  Moliere,  and  none  that  she 
ever  bartered  her  charms. 

She  was  a  strolling  actress  in  an  age  of  license,  it  is 
true,  and  many  were  the  nights  she  must  have  slept  upon 
the  straw  of  some  barn  or  beneath  the  canopy  of  her 


24  MOLIERE 

Thespian  chariot.  When  she  happened  to  please  village 
bucks,  they  swarmed  about  her  in  the  corner  behind  the 
stage  where  she  dressed  or  besieged  her  quarters  at  the 
inn  ;  and  it  would  be  hard  for  a  woman  to  remain  modest 
and  immaculate  in  such  surroundings.  When  Moliere 
first  knew  her,  she  was  about  twenty-five  years  old,  and 
had  seen  much  of  the  shadowy  side  of  life.  Surely  it  is 
not  the  only  time  an  actress  with  a  past  has  bewitched  a 
callow  youth  of  twenty. 

The  place  of  their  meeting  is  still  a  mystery.  Tradi- 
tion would  have  it  in  Languedoc  during  the  King's 
journey ;  and  because  some  comedians  played  before  his 
Majesty  when  he  stopped  to  take  the  waters  at  Mont- 
frin,  and  a  troupe  headed  by  Charles  Dufresne,  an  actor 
associated  with  Moliere  at  a  later  date,  appeared  at  Lyons 
the  following  year  (1643),  it  has  been  argued  that  these 
organisations  were  identical,  and  Madeleine  a  member  of 
them  at  the  time.1  If  this  be  so,  Montfrin  was  the  place 
of  her  first  meeting  with  Moliere  ;  but  the  young  man's 
journey  itself  is  still  a  matter  of  doubt,  so  it  seems  quite 
as  likely  that  they  met  first  in  Paris  when  she  came 
from  the  provinces  to  set  up  her  trestles  in  some  vacant 

tennis-court.JJC 

If  this  conjecture  be  correct,  in  the  company  she 
brought  with  her  from  the  country  were  her  brother 
Joseph,  who  had  a  habit  of  stuttering  even  upon  the  stage, 
and  probably  an  out-at-elbow  gentleman  named  Jean- 
Baptiste  Tristan  I'Hermite,  a  brother  of  the  poet  Frangois 
Tristan  THermite,  and  like  him  asserting  descent  from 
the  gossip  hangman  of  Louis  XI.  Modene,  La  Bejart's 
lover,  played  fast  and  loose  with  the  wife  of  Jean-Baptiste, 

1  M.  de  Modene :  set  deux  femmes  €t  Madeleine  Bejart,  by    Henri 
Chard  on. 


MADELEINE   BEJART  25 

and  afterward  married  Madeleine  PHermite,  his  daugh- 
ter. Perhaps  at  the  time  Moliere  came  upon  the  scene, 
Modene,  already  tiring  of  his  love  for  Madeleine  Bejart, 
had  begun  to  be  enamoured  of  L'Hermite's  wife,  known 
on  the  stage  as  Marie  Courtin  de  la  Dehors.  This  would 
tend  to  leave  La  Bejart  at  once  resentful  and  fancy  free ; 
and  ifj  as  seems  most  likely,  she  was  in  financial  straits,  the 
budding  passion  of  a  young  man  who  had  just  received 
an  inheritance  from  his  mother's  estate  might  have  ap- 
peared in  the  light  of  a  godsend  to  such  a  girl.  The  one 
certainty,  however,  to  be  deduced  from  all  this  conjec- 
ture is  that  Madeleine  Bejart  met  the  future  genius  of 
comedy  before  June  thirtieth,  1643,  the  date  when  he 
signed  his  first  theatrical  contract. 

The  actors  of  the  time  were  vagabonds.  The  patron- 
age of  Richelieu  had  done  something  to  improve  their 
lot,  and  at  his  instigation  the  King  had  decreed  that  no 
aspersion  should  attach  to  the  profession  of  player ;  but 
no  royal  decree  could  remove  a  deep-rooted  prejudice. 
To  a  worthy  bourgeois,  such  as  Poquelin  the  upholsterer, 
a  comedian  was  an  outcast  unworthy  to  be  shrived  ;  hence 
it  took  rare  courage  on  Jean-Baptiste's  part  to  cut  himself 
loose  from  family  and  prospects. 

When  he  decided  to  forsake  the  profession  of  the  law 
for  an  actor's  calling,  he  is  reputed  to  have  conceived  a 
harebrained  scheme  which  he  hoped  would  lend  respecta- 
bility to  his  venture.  Madeleine,  the  daughter  of  a  court 
official,  was  as  well  born  as  he  ;  and  if  they  could  surround 
themselves  with  a  company  of  respectable  amateurs  — gens 
de  famille>  K^6  themselves  —  they  might  elevate  the  stage 
by  giving  free  performances  in  fashionable  circles.  The 
name  of  this  venture  was  "The  Illustrious  Theatre" 
(L'lllustre  Theatre)-,  undoubtedly  an  ill-starred  theatrical 


26  MOLIERE 

company  bearing  this  title  was  organised  by  young  Poque- 
lin  and  the  Bejarts ;  but  whether  the  members  gave  ama- 
teur performances  before  appearing  on  the  professional 
stage  is  still  a  matter  of  considerable  doubt. 

A  somewhat  questionable  legend  is  told  by  Perrault1 
about  a  writing-master  named  George  Pinel  whom  the 
upholsterer  employed  to  dissuade  his  son  from  making  a 
fool  of  himself.  Instead  of  listening  to  righteous  argu- 
ment, the  lad  painted  the  charms  of  an  actor's  life  in  such 
glowing  terms  that  the  scrivener  was  himself  persuaded 
to  join  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre."  As  he  succeeded  in 
borrowing  money  from  the  worthy  upholsterer  both  before 
and  after  espousing  his  son's  cause,  Pinel,  if  the  story  be 
true,  must  have  been  a  pharisee  as  well  as  a  scribe. 

The  facts  of  history  relating  to  the  organisation  of 
"  The  Illustrious  Theatre "  are  few.  On  the  sixth  of 
January,  1643,  Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin  received  from  his 
father  the  sum  of  six  hundred  and  thirty  livres  due  from 
his  mother's  estate,  and  renounced  his  right  of  succession 
to  the  office  of  Royal  Upholsterer.  The  decease  of 
Madeleine's  father  about  this  time  may  have  retarded 
the  organisation  of  the  company  somewhat,  since  it  was 
not  until  the  thirtieth  of  June  that  its  members  were 
brought  together  to  sign  the  contract  which  was  to  bind 
them  to  the  venture. 

This  latter  document  contained  a  clause  whereby  Clerin, 
Poquelin,  and  Joseph  Bejart  should  have  the  right  to 
choose  successively  the  role  of  hero  in  the  plays  to  be 
produced,  while  to  Mile.  Bejart  was  given  the  selection 
of  the  parts  which  pleased  her.  It  set  forth  as  well  that 
the  contracting  parties  united  to  play  comedy  and  to 

1  Les  Hommes  illustres  qut  ont  paru  en  Prance  pendant  ce  stick  :  avec 
leurs  portraits  au  nature/. 


MADELEINE   BfijART  27 

retain  their  organisation  under  the  title  of  "  The  Illustri- 
ous Theatre."  From  these  two  clauses  it  has  been  ar- 
gued that  the  troupe  had  given  performances  before  the 
instrument  was  drawn,  else  its  members  would  not  wish 
to  retain  their  organisation  or  entrust  leading  roles  to  a 
young  man  without  experience.  But  that  is  a  question 
of  minor  importance.  The  signing  of  this  contract  marks! 
the  beginning  of  Moliere's  career  as  a  professional  actor.  \ 
The  document  itself,  discovered  in  a  Parisian  notary's 
office  by  M.  Eudore  Soulie,  is  authentic.  The  names  of 
the  following  signatories  occur  in  the  eccentric  spelling 
of  the  day: 

Beys  G.  Clerin 

Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin  J.  Beiart 

Bonnenfant  George  Pinel 

M.  Beiart  Magdale  Malingre 

Geneviefve  Beiart  Catherine  Desurlis 

A.  Mareschal  Marie  Herve 
Fran9oise  Lesguillon 

Ducbesne. — Fieffif. 

Although  Beys  wrote  the  initial  of  his  Christian  name 
as  "  D  "  to  later  documents  of  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre," 
he  was  possibly  the  wine-bibbing  Charles  Beys,  born  in 
1610,  whose  epitaph  Loret  wrote,  and  who  was  cited  by 
the  Brothers  Parfaict l  as  the  author  of  The  Madhouse 
(L'Hdpital  des  fous)  and  other  pieces.  // 

Little  is  known  of  Germain  Clerin.  Joseph  Bejart 
was  Madeleine's  eldest  brother,  while  Genevieve  was  her 
younger  sister,  doubtless  just  beginning  her  theatrical 
career.  Nicolas  Bonnenfant  was  a  lawyer's  clerk,  Andre 
Mareschal  an  advocate  in  parliament,  and  George  Pinel 
the  pharisaical  scribe  already  mentioned.  Catherine  De- 
1  Histoire  du  theatre  f ran  fats. 


*8  MOLIERE 

2 

surlis,  or  de  Surlis,  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Etienne  de 
Surlis,  record  clerk  of  the  Privy  Council  of  the  King,  and 
Fran9oise  Lesguillon  was  her  mother,  who,  as  the  actress 
was  a  minor,  signed  the  contract  to  make  it  binding. 
Madeleine  (or,  as  she  wrote  her  name,  Magdale)  Malingre 
remained  in  the  company  only  a  short  time,  joining  the 
forces  of  the  Theatre  du  Marais,  where,  according  to 
Tallemant  des  Reaux,  she  fought  a  duel  upon  the  stage 
with  an  actress  named  La  Beaupre.  Marie  Herve  was 
the  mother  of  the  Bejart  family.  Duchesne  and  Fieffe 
were  notaries. 

In  this  document  young  Poquelin  gave  his  address 
as  the  rue  de  Thorigny,  where  Madeleine  had  owned  a 
house  since  her  eighteenth  year ;  so,  although  the  lady 
discreetly  gave  her  mother's  residence  in  the  rue  de  la 
Perle  as  her  own  domicile,  it  is  evident  that,  without  the 
benediction  of  the  church,  the  young  man  had  already 
joined  his  inamorata  for  better  or  for  worse. 

To  complete  his  separation  from  middle-class  respecta- 
bility, Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin  chose  a  stage  name,  —  a 
common  practice  among  actors  then  as  now,  —  but  his 
reason  for  selecting  "Moliere"  has  ever  remained  a 
mystery.  There  was  a  ballet-master,  poet,  and  musician 
attached  to  the  court  called  Louis  de  Molier,  or,  as  it 
was  often  written,  Moliere,  and  there  had  been  an  author, 
Fra^ois  de  Moliere,  whose  amorous  novels  had  had 
quite  a  vogue.  This  Fra^ois  de  Moliere  was  dead. 
Possibly  young  Poquelin  had  been  reading  one  of  his 
books  to  his  lady-love  and  liked  the  author's  name. 

But  this  is  a  question  quite  as  unanswerable  as  whether 
love  of  art  or  love  of  a  more  tender  nature  made  "  a  fel- 
low named  Moliere  leave  the  benches  of  the  Sorbonne," 
or,  to  be  more  truthful,  his  father's  house,  "  to  follow 


MADELEINE   BEJART  29 

Madeleine  Bejart."  The  blood  runs  warm  at  one-and- 
twenty,  and  in  spite  of  his  undoubted  passion  for  the 
stage  the  lady's  glances  must  have  been  more  potent  in 
turning  the  scales  than  "  the  invincible  appeal  of  a  noble 
art,"  which  M.  Paul  Mesnard1  cites  as  the  cause  of  the 
youth's  apostasy. 

Once  having  taken  this  rash  step,  the  young  man  must 
needs  find  a  theatre  for  his  madcap  venture.  Just  beyond 
the  walls  of  the  city  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine,  stood 
a  vacant  hall  called  from  the  name  of  its  proprietors  the 
Mestayers'  Tennis-Court  This  was  the  place  selected 
by  Moliere  and  his  impecunious  comrades  for  their  enter- 
prise. Situated  in  the  foss'e  de  Nesle,2  it  was  remote 
from  the  haunts  of  fashion ;  yet  the  annual  rental  alone 
of  nineteen  hundred  livres  demanded  by  Noel  Gallois, 
the  tennis  master,  was  fully  three  times  Moliere's  capital, 
and  the  expense  of  transforming  the  place  into  a  theatre 
was  not  included  therein.  The  young  man  did  not  hesi- 
tate, however,  to  sign  a  three  years'  lease  for  this  tennis- 
court,  dated  September  twelfth,  1643,  and  since  Marie 
Herve  hypothecated  her  goods,  chattels,  and  house  in 
the  rue  de  la  Perle  as  security,  Moliere's  confidence  in 
the  enterprise  seems  to  have  been  shared  by  her  children, 
the  Bejarts. 

While  the  Mestayers'  Tennis-Court  was  being  trans- 
formed into  a  play-house,  the  members  of  "  The  Illustri- 
ous Theatre,"  together  with  Catherine  Bourgeois,  a  new 
recruit,  ventured  forth  to  Rouen  to  try  their  fortune  at  a 
fair.3  Engaging  four  "  rascal  fiddlers,"  who  styled  them- 

1  Notice  biograpbique  sur  Moliere. 

2  Probably  on  the  site  now  occupied  by  houses  10,  12,  14  in  the  rue 
Mazarin  and  11,13  rue  de  ^a  Seine. 

8  La  Foire  du  pardon,  ou  de  Saint  Romain. 


30  MOLIERE 

selves  "  master  players  of  instruments,"  to  draw  them  cus- 
tom, these  unfledged  actors  set  up  their  trestles  near  the 
gypsy  tents  and  peddlers'  booths  of  Normandy  ;  there 
played  to  an  audience  of  yokels,  and  made  their  bid  for 
fame. 

As  the  fair  openecj,  on  October  twenty-third,  it  is  rea- 
sonable to  presume  the  company  had  reached  Rouen  by 
that  time.  On  November  third,  there  the  members  signed 
a  contract  with  Michault,  a  master-builder,  and  Duplessis, 
a  carpenter,  for  alterations  to  their  Paris  house;  so  their 
presence  in  the  cathedral  city  on  that  day  is  attested. 

Corneille  lived  at  Rouen,  and  his  comedy,  ^he  Liar 
(Le  Menteur\  being  somewhat  in  the  vein  of  Moliere's 
own  earlier  work,  imaginative  writers  have  pictured  the 
master  of  comedy  playing  the  part  of  Dorante  at  the 
time  of  his  debut.  Unfortunately  for  the  truth  of  this 
tribute  of  a  future  genius  to  one  already  laurel-crowned, 
Moliere's  early  bent  was  tragedy,  and  at  the  time  of  his 
first  appearance  at  Corneille's  birthplace  he  was  courting 
Melpomene  with  an  ardour  still  unquenched. 

Although  the  exact  length  of  their  sojourn  among  the 
merry-andrews  of  the  West  is  not  known,  Moliere  and 
his  fellow  Thespians  were  certainly  back  in  Paris  on 
December  twenty-eighth,  for  on  that  day  the  members  of 
"  The  Illustrious  Theatre "  signed  an  obligation  to  pay 
Leonard  Aubry,  pavier  in  ordinary  of  the  King's  build- 
ings, two  hundred  livres  for  a  pavement  twelve  fathoms 
long  by  three  wide  before  the  new  theatre.  Aubry  agreed, 
further,  to  widen  the  street  so  that  coaches  might  reach 
the  door,  and  that  the  work  should  be  completed  on  the 
following  Thursday,  weather  permitting.  The  twenty- 
eighth  of  December,  1643,  falling  upon  a  Monday,  the 
Thursday  following  was  the  thirty-first.  If  the  condi- 


MADELEINE   BEJART  31 

tions  of  the  contract  were  fulfilled,  the  opening  of  "  The 
Illustrious  Theatre  "  probably  took  place  on  New  Year's 
Day,  1644,  one  year  less  five  days  from  the  time  Moliere 
had  received  the  sum  of  six  hundred  and  thirty  Hvres 
from  his  father  and  renounced  his  right  of  succession  to 
the  appointment  of  Royal  Upholsterer. 

The  few  whom  curiosity  attracted  to  the  new  play- 
house went  away  to  cavil.  Even  Madeleine  Bejart's 
talent  could  not  save  the  doomed  enterprise.  There 
is  no  sadder  spectacle  than  a  bad  actor  playing  to  an 
empty  house;  and  in  those  days  Moliere  was  so  bad 
an  actor  that  in  his  efforts  to  curb  the  volubility  of 
his  speech,  he  acquired  the  habit  of  a  sort  of  hiccough 
which  lasted  him  through  life ;  the  houses  he  played  to 
standing  so  empty  that  his  patrimony  was  soon  exhausted 
and  debts  contracted  to  the  sum  of  two  thousand  livres. 
For  a  full  year  he  and  his  fellow  tragedians  struggled 
on  in  the  Mestayers*  Tennis-Court ;  but  the  expected 
coaches  never  came,  and  the  sumptuous  boxes  remained 
ungraced.  True,  they  received  the  empty  boon  of  styl- 
ing themselves  "  The  Troupe  of  His  Royal  Highness," 
probably  through  the  intercession  of  Modene,  but  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  was  chary  of  his  pensions,  and  the 
honour  could  not  have  been  half  so  useful  in  drawing 
custom  as  the  ballet-master  named  Daniel  Mallet,  en- 
gaged on  June  twenty-eighth,  1644,  for  thirty-five  sous 
a  day,  with  an  additional  five  when  he  performed.  The 
name  Moltire  appears  signed  to  the  contract  with  this 
terpischorean  artist  for  the  first  time,  —  Moliere,  at  the 
nadir  of  his  career. 

The  thought  of  a  hired  dancer  doing  steps  as  an  anti- 
dotal interlude  to  the  tragic  bellowings  of  the  genius  of 
comedy  would  be  pathetic  if  it  were  not  humorous.  For 


32  MOLIERE 

tragedy  was  the  undoing  of  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre." 
Indeed  the  new  play-house  became  a  veritable  morgue, 
where  every  poetaster  in  Pads  exposed  dead  plays.  The 
Death  of  Seneca  and  The  Death  of  Crisp  us,  by  Tristan 
I'Hermite,  Sc*vola,  by  Pierre  du  Ryer,  and  Artaxerxes, 
by  Jean  Magnon,  were  among  the  lugubrious  pieces  pro- 
duced by  these  ingenuous  actors  ;  and,  not  content  with 
turning  their  theatre  into  a  mortuary,  they  admitted  one 
Nicolas  Desfontaines,  already  the  author  of  eleven  trag- 
edies, to  partnership. 

No  theatrical  company  could  bear  such  a  burden  of 
the  "  heavy  "  ;  yet,  actor-like,  these  crushed  tragedians  did 
not  attribute  their  failure  to  lack  of  talent  or  choice  of 
plays,  but  to  the  situation  of  their  theatre.  In  Decem- 
ber, 1644,  when  debt  had  driven  them  from  their  play- 
house, they  rented  another  tennis-court  called  the  Black 
Cross,  over  by  the  St.  Paul  gate,  a  far  more  aristocratic 
quarter  then  than  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  Another 
master-builder  was  engaged  to  make  the  new  house 
ready  for  occupancy  on  the  eighth  of  January,  1645, 
and  unless  he  was  a  trusting  soul,  Moliere  and  his 
comrades  had  already  received  their  windfall  of  cast-off 
garments  to  pawn  for  his  remuneration. 

Old  clothes  were  no  unusual  reward  for  poets  and 
actors  who  had  pleased  some  great  noble.  Madeleine's 
former  protector,  the  Baron  de  Modene,  had  become 
first  gentleman-in-waiting  to  the  Duke  of  Guise,  and 
Tristan  1'Hermite  was  attached  to  his  household  ;  so 
"  The  Illustrious  Theatre "  shared  the  wardrobe  his 
Grace  distributed  among  the  actors  of  Paris  about  this 
time.  In  an  anonymous  collection  of  poetry,  printed  in 
1646,  occur  these  lines,  evidently  written  by  an  actor 
the  duke  had  overlooked : 


MADELEINE   BEJART  33 

Already,  in  the  royal  troupe, 

Sir  Beauchateau,  that  popinjay, 

Lets  his  impatient  spirit  droop, 

Whene'er  thy  gift  he  can't  display; 

La  Bejart,  Beys,  and  Moliere, 

Three  stars  of  brilliance  quite  as  rare, 

Through  glory  thine,  have  grown  so  vain 

That  envy  makes  me  loudly  swear 

I  '11  none  of  them,  shouldst  thou  not  deign 

To  grant  me  clothes  as  fine  to  wear. 

Even  a  duke's  cast-off  garments  could  not  avert  "  The 
Illustrious  Theatre's  "  stalking  doom.  The  receipts  at 
the  new  play-house  were  no  better  than  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain.  At  last  came  the  hour  of  reckoning  :  Jean- 
Baptiste  Poquelin,  Sieur  de  Moliere,  having  pawned  two 
gold  and  silver  embroidered  ribbons,  probably  the  rem- 
nants of  De  Guise's  gift,  was  tried  in  July,  1645,  an<^ 
imprisoned  in  the  Grand  Chatelet  early  in  the  following 
month.  A  chandler  named  Antoine  Fausser  had  pressed 
a  claim  for  a  debt  of  a  hundred  and  forty-two  livres  ; 
and,  having  gone  security  for  the  ill-fated  company, 
Moliere  was  placed  in  a  debtor's  cell.  On  the  fifth 
of  August  the  civil  lieutenant,  Dreux  d'Aubry,  ordered 
him  set  at  liberty  upon  his  own  recognisances,  but  one 
Fran9ois  Pommier,  acting  for  other  creditors,  demanded 
that  he  be  reincarcerated,  and  a  linen-draper  named 
Dubourg  obtained  a  decree  of  arrest. 

The  chief  of  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre  "  was  there-! 
upon  again  imprisoned ;  but  his  friends  rallied  to  his/ 
support,  and    Leonard   Aubry,   who   paved   the   street 
before  the    Mestayers'  Tennis-Court   for  the   carriages 
which  never  came,  went  upon  his  bond. 

When  the  young  actor  was  released,  his  comrades 
gathered  in  the  Black  Cross  Tennis-Court,  August  thir- 

3 


34  MOLIERE 

teenth,  1 645,  and  agreed  to  indemnify  his  benefactor ; 
but  the  ranks  of  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre  "  had  been 
sadly  shattered.  The  company  no  longer  styled  itself 
"The  Troupe  of  His  Royal  Highness,"  and  of  the 
(original  members,  Moliere,  the  Bejarts,  and  Germain 
Clerin  alone  remained  loyaU  Catherine  Bourgeois  and 
Germain  Rabel,  later  recruits,  signed  the  obligation  to 
the  pavier,  thus  swelling  the  total  of  the  depleted  ranks 
to  seven  Thespians  all  told;  but  the  honourable  inten- 
tions of  these  wretched  vagabonds  were  beyond  their 
powers  of  fulfilment.  When  the  obligation  to  Leonard 
Aubry  fell  due,  December  twenty-fourth,  1646,  Moliere's 
father,  so  frequently  maligned  as  the  original  of  Har- 
pagon  the  miser,  came  to  the  relief  of  his  wayward  son 
by  endorsing  the  note,  —  surely  not  the  least  of  the 
upholsterer's  good  acts. 

This  ends  the  story  of  "The  Illustrious  Theatre." 
Madeleine  Bej  art's  faith  in  her  young  lover  was  still 
unshaken,  but  Paris  would  have  none  of  them ;  so  the 
undaunted  pair  went  forth  to  seek  their  fortune  in  the 
provinces.  The  temptation  to  return  to  his  father's 
house  must  have  been  very  strong,  but  Moliere's  belief 
in  himself  was  still  the  confidence  of  youth,  —  the  glow 
in  the  heart  that  lessens  only  with  the  years. 


COMEDIANS  OF   DUKE   OF   EPERNON    35 


III 

THE  COMEDIANS  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  EPERNON 

WHEN  Moliere  fled  from  Paris,  he  became,  in  the  phrase 
of  the  theatre,  a  "  barn-stormer."  An  ox-cart  was  his 
home,  his  play-house  some  vacant  grange  or  tennis-court. 
Eventually  he  obtained  a  following  in  certain  towns,  and 
recognition  as  an  official  entertainer  in  at  least  two 
provinces ;  yet  for  nearly  thirteen  years  he  was  at  best  a 
vagabond,  tramping  the  highroads  of  France  beside  his 
unwinged  chariot.  Court  records,  the  registration  of  in- 
fants born  to  his  actresses,  and  entries  in  a  few  provincial 
ledgers  of  payments  made  to  his  company  are  the  only 
recorded  facts  relating  to  the  first  eight  years  of  his  wan- 
derings ;  so  in  order  that  the  story  may  be  told  at  all,  it 
becomes  necessary  to  shed  a  dim  light  of  circumstantial 
evidence  upon  that  darkest  period  of  his  life. 

Only  the  Bejarts  —  Madeleine,  Joseph,  and  Genevieve 
—  are  known  to  have  accompanied  him  in  his  flight  from 
Paris,  and  he  was  of  so  little  importance,  even  in  the 
theatrical  world,  that  no  record  of  his  departure  has  been 
preserved. 

Catherine  Bourgeois,  as  a  member  of  "  The  Illustrious 
Theatre,"  had  paid  her  share  of  that  hapless  venture's 
obligation  to  Fra^ois  Pommier  on  the  fourth  of  Novem- 
ber, 1646,  and  during  the  following  month  Jean  Poquelin, 
senior,  had  endorsed  his  son's  note  to  Leonard  Aubry,  the 
pavier,  to  tide  over  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre's  "  misfor- 


I 


36  MOLIERE 

tunes.  From  this  it  may  be  argued  that  Moliere  lingered 
in  Paris  until  the  end  of  the  year  1646 ;  though  sixteen 
months  intervened  between  the  agreement  of  the  shattered 
company  to  indemnify  Leonard  Aubry  and  the  date  when 
Moliere's  father  came  to  its  relief,  without  any  record  of 
intermediate  financial  difficulties.  Catherine  Bourgeois's 
settlement  was  manifestly  her  own  affair,  and  it  would 
have  been  possible  for  Moliere  to  arrange  his  business 
with  his  father  by  correspondence,  or  even  to  take  a  fly- 
ing trip  to  Paris ;  therefore  it  is  far  easier  to  believe  that 
he  fled  to  the  provinces  shortly  after  his  second  escape 
from  prison  than  that  he  was  able  to  dodge  both  bailiffs 
and  gaolers  from  August  thirteenth,  1645,  to  December 
twenty-fourth,  1646. 

M.  Mesnard1  enhances  the  value  of  this  theory  that 
the  chief  of  "The  Illustrious  Theatre  "  left  Paris  in  1645 
by  quoting  from  the  memoirs  of  a  contemporary  named 
Tralage,  to  the  effect  that  the  "  Sieur  de  Moliere  began 
to  play  comedy  at  Bordeaux  in  1644  or  1645."  ^  was 
impossible  for  the  poet  to  have  reached  the  capital  of 
Guyenne  until  after  his  escape  from  the  Chatelet  in 
August,  1645  ;  but  if  he  left  Paris  then,  he  might  have 
reached  Bordeaux  long  before  the  end  of  that  year.  The 
Duke  of  Epernon  was  governor  of  Guyenne  at  the  time, 
and,  according  to  Tralage,  "  he  esteemed  Moliere,  who 
appeared  to  him  to  possess  considerable  wit." 

There  is  other  evidence  to  indicate  that  Moliere  and 
his  company  reached  Guyenne  before  December,  1646. 
During  the  autumn  of  that  year  Jean  Magnon,  whose 
tragedy  of  Artaxerxes  had  been  played  by  "  The  Illus- 
trious Theatre  "  preliminary  to  its  downfall,  published  a 
tragi-comedy  called  Jehosophat.  In  the  preface,  he  took 

1  Notice  biograpbique  sur  Moliere. 


COMEDIANS   OF    DUKE   OF   fiPERNON    37 

*  f 

occasion  to  thank  the  Duke  of  Epernon  for  "  the  protec- 
tion and  assistance  he  had  given  the  most  unfortunate  and 
one  of  the  most  deserving  of  French  actresses."  Made- 
leine Bejart  was  undoubtedly  most  unfortunate  at  the  time 
this  was  written,  and,  considering  Magnon's  connection 
with  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre,"  it  is  reasonable  to  sup- 
pose she  was  the  actress  the  Duke  of  Epernon  be- 
friended. Again,  in  April  of  that  same  year  (1646),  A. 
Mareschal,  another  former  comrade,  likewise  dedicated  a 
tragedy  called  Papirius;  or,  ^he  Roman  Dictator  to  the 
Duke  of  Epernon,  and,  in  his  preface,  refers  to  the  troupe 
his  Grace  had  "  enriched  by  magnificent  presents  as  much 
as  by  illustrious  actors."  l 

Thus  Tralage  mentions  Moliere  as  having  pleased  the 
Duke  of  Epernon,  while  Magnon  calls  attention  to  an 
unfortunate  actress  he  had  befriended,  and  Mareschal  to 
his  "  illustrious  actors."  Piecing  together  this  fragmen- 
tary evidence,  it  is  fair  to  presume  that  Moliere,  together 
with  Madeleine  Bejart  and  the  remnants  of  "  The  Illus- 
trious Theatre,"  left  Paris  before  the  publication  of 
either  Jehosophat  or  The  Roman  Dictator,  and  that  the 
Duke  of  Epernon  extended  them  his  patronage. 

It  was  customary  for  travelling  companies  to  organise 
at  Easter,  so  that  the  spring  of  1646  seems  a  probable 
date  for  the  departure  from  Paris.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  Moliere  fled  from  the  capital  immediately  after  his 
escape  from  prison,  he  reached  Bordeaux  before  the  end 
of  the  year,  which  would  accord  with  Tralage's  statement 
that  he  was  there  in  1644  or  1645. 

Of  far  more  human  interest,  however,  than  the  date  of 
his  departure  for  the  provinces  is  the  fact  that  he  had 

1  M.  de  Modene :  ses  deux  femmes  et  Madeleine  Bejart,  by  Henri 
Chardon. 


38  MOLIERE 

the  pluck  to  persevere  in  his  chosen  calling.  Over- 
whelmed by  discouragement  and  disgraced  by  a  debtors 
cell,  his  most  natural  course  would  have  been  to  re-enact 
the  story  of  the  prodigal's  return ;  but  rather  than  ac- 
knowledge defeat,  he  became  an  outcast  denied  even  the 
right  of  Christian  burial.  An  those  days  the  strolling 
player  was  beset  by  want  and  persecution,  while  the 
unsettled  state  of  French  politics  added  the  danger  of 
highway  robbery  to  the  certainty  of  police  oppression. 
.Courage  and  perseverance  are  qualities  which  distinguish 
genius  from  mere  cleverness,  and  when  Moliere  turned 
his  back  upon  the  joys  of  Paris  to  lead  a  life  of  privation 
and  social  ostracism,  he  proved  the  quality  of  his  fibre. 

The  best  existing  picture  of  life  in  a  travelling  the- 
atrical company,  at  the  time  when  Moliere  took  to  the 
highroads  of  France,  is  in  Scarron's  Comic  Romance  (Le 
Roman  comique),  a  story  of  the  trials,  tribulations,  and 
amours  of  a  band  of  strolling  players,  told  with  true 
picaresque  humour  and  gaiety.  It  was  evidently  in- 
spired by  some  travelling  company  which  the  worldly 
abbe  met  while  attending  the  general  chapter  of  St. 
Julien  at  Le  Mans  in  1646,  and  as  Moliere  and  La 
Bejart  bear  a  vague  resemblance  to  the  hero  and  heroine, 
more  than  one  attempt  has  been  made  to  prove  that 
he  had  them  particularly  in  mind.  But  other  theatrical 
companies  were  tramping  the  highroads  at  the  time,  and 
M.  Chardon,1  who  has  studied  the  matter  exhaustively, 
comes  to  the  conclusion  that  Moliere  was  not  the  hero. 
The  opening  paragraph  of  Scarron's  story  might  pass, 
however,  for  a  picture  of  Madeleine  Bejart  and  her  young 
lover  at  the  time  they  were  forced  to  storm  the  barns  of 
provincial  France: 

1  La  Troupe  du  Roman  comique  devoilce* 


COMEDIANS   OF   DUKE   OF   fiPERNON    39 

Between  five  and  six  in  the  afternoon  a  van  entered 
the  market-place  of  Le  Mans.  It  was  drawn  by  four 
lean  oxen  led  by  a  brood  mare,  whose  colt  scampered 
back  and  forth  about  the  vehicle  like  the  little  fool  it 
was.  The  bags,  trunks,  and  long  rolls  of  painted  cloth 
which  filled  the  chariot  formed  a  sort  of  pyramid  upon 
the  apex  of  which  sat  a  young  girl  whose  country 
garments  were  relieved  by  a  touch  of  city  finery.  A 
young  man,  poor  in  dress  but  rich  in  countenance, 
tramped  beside  the  van.  .  .  .  Upon  his  shoulder  he 
carried  a  blunderbuss  which  had  served  to  assassinate  a 
number  of  magpies,  jays,  and  crows.  These  made  him  a 
cross-belt,  from  which  a  chicken  and  a  gosling,  evidently 
captured  in  desultory  warfare,  hung  by  the  legs. 

This  ox-cart  described  by  Scarron  was  typical  of 
Moliere's  own  chariot  of  Thespis.  When  it  halted  at 
the  end  of  a  day's  journey,  village  urchins  greeted  it 
with  jeers ;  and  while  the  footsore  actors  who  had 
tramped  behind  its  creaking  wheels  argued  with  some 
swaggering  archer  of  police  for  permission  to  set  up  their 
trestles,  village  rakes  with  feathered  hats  against  their 
breasts  besieged  the  tired  actresses,  sitting  huddled  on 
its  pile  of  baggage,  with  offers  of  gallantry  and  ribald 
compliment. 

The  strolling  player  found  manifold  trials  awaiting 
him  on  every  hand ;  bandits  infested  the  highroads,  the 
police  were  merely  authorised  brigands,  and  so  great  was 
the  prejudice  against  his  calling  in  certain  localities  that 
a  tatterdemalion  mob  armed  with  stones  sometimes 
greeted  him  at  the  end  of  a  day's  journey.  Even  in 
more  hospitable  regions,  he  was  forced  to  seek  an  official 
permit  to  present  his  comedies,  and  for  some  vacant 
grange  or  tennis-court  to  serve  him  for  a  play-house. 
A  few  deals  laid  upon  wooden  trestles  were  the  veritable 


40  MOLlfeRE 

"  boards  "  he  trod ;  and  as  his  theatre  was  frequently  a 
barn,  the  term  "  barn-stormer  "  is  no  misnomer.  If  his 
company  were  affluent,  it  might  boast  a  roll  or  two  of 
canvas  daubed  to  represent  a  street  or  palace ;  but  his 
scenery  was  more  likely  to  be  merely  a  pair  of  travel- 
stained  curtains  which  rumpled  the  hair  of  his  tragedy 
queen  as  she  made  her  haughty  entrance.  His  lights 
were  only  tallow  dips  stuck  by  their  own  grease  on  a 
pair  of  crossed  laths ;  his  orchestra,  a  drum,  a  trumpet, 
and  a  pair  of  squeaking  fiddles ;  while  in  costuming  and 
"  make-up "  he  did  not  attempt  historical  accuracy ; 
a  tawdry  toga  and  a  plumed  helmet  sufficed  for  the 
classic  heroes  of  both  Greece  and  Rome;  a  clown's 
dress  or  swashbuckler's  cloak  for  comedy  parts.  For 
the  buffoon,  he  whitened  his  face  with  flour  and 
pencilled  grotesque  moustaches  on  his  lips  with  char- 
coal ;  but  nature  herself  was  usually  the  "  make-up 
artist." 

An  official  permit  obtained  and  his  theatre  ready,  the 
manager  of  a  strolling  company  must  then  secure  an 
audience.  This  was  no  simple  matter.  His  drum-beats 
gathered  a  crowd ;  and  by  an  harangue  on  the  marvels 
of  his  actors  he  endeavoured  to  extract  sufficient  coppers 
from  the  pockets  of  his  yokel  auditors  to  keep  out  of 
the  bailiff's  hands.  To  feed  a  dozen  mouths  when  five 
sous  was  the  price  of  admission  was  a  task  to  appal  even 
the  most  aspiring  heart. 

Happy  the  comedians  who  obtained  a  governor's 
patronage !  Official  thorns  were  removed  from  their 
path,  their  coffers  filled  from  the  public  exchequer,  pres- 
ents and  favours  bestowed  upon  them  ;  so,  in  befriending 
"  the  most  unfortunate  and  one  of  the  most  deserving 
of  French  actresses,"  the  Duke  of  Epernon  spared  the 


Moliere's  Chariot  of  Thespis 


COMEDIANS   OF   DUKE   OF   EPERNON    41 

remnants  of  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre  "  many  a  supper- 
less  night,  many  a  pallet  of  straw. 

"  Our  troupe  is  as  complete  as  that  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  or  of  his  Highness  of  Epernon,"  said  one  of 
the  characters  in  The  Comic  Romance.  Moliere's  portion 
of  this  divided  compliment  was  due,  no  doubt,  to  the 
eventual  union  of  his  company  with  the  troupe  of 
Charles  Dufresne,  a  comedian  who  appeared  in  Lyons  as 
early  as  1643.  The  date  when  the  two  organisations 
joined  forces  is  still  uncertain,  but  it  is  quite  likely  that 
Moliere,  when  he  reached  Guyenne,  found  Dufresne 
already  in  the  governor's  favour,  and,  through  Madeleine 
Bejart's  influence,  was  invited  to  join  his  ranks. 

An  acknowledgment  for  five  hundred  livres  paid  "  The 
Comedians  of  the  Duke  of  Epernon  "  by  the  town  au- 
thorities of  Albi  in  October,  1647,  contains  the  names  of 
Dufresne,  Pierre  Rebelhon,  and  Rene  Berthelot.  Rebel- 
lion, or  Reveillon  as  he  is  usually  called,  played  with 
Moliere  in  the  provinces,  while  Dufresne,  as  well  as 
Berthelot,  a  fat  comedian  known  on  the  stage  as  Du 
Pare  and  nicknamed  Gros-Rene,  were  in  the  company 
he  brought  to  Paris  in  1658.  As  the  Bejarts  and  Moliere 
are  not  mentioned  in  this  document,  it  is  uncertain  whether 
the  two  companies  were  yet  united ;  but  on  May  eigh- 
teenth of  the  following  year  (1648),  Dufresne,  Du  Pare, 
Marie  Herve,  and  Madeleine  Bejart  stood  sponsors  at 
Nantes  for  Reveillon's  daughter. 

Moliere  was  also  in  Brittany  near  this  time ;  for,  ac- 
cording to  the  municipal  records  of  Nantes,  "  The  Sieur 
Morlierre  (sic\  one  of  the  comedians  of  the  troupe  of  the 
Sieur  Dufresne,"  appeared  before  the  civic  authorities  on 
April  twenty-third,  "  humbly  to  beg  permission  to  erect 
a  stage  and  present  comedies,"  —  a  petition  refused  until 


4i  MOLIERE 

the  Marechal  de  la  Meilleraye,  governor  of  the  province, 
had  recovered  from  an  illness.  On  May  seventeenth, 
Dufresne  alone  conferred  with  the  aforesaid  city  fathers 
about  a  performance  which  was  to  be  given  for  charity 
on  the  following  day,  while  on  June  ninth  he  signed 
a  document  pertaining  to  the  lease  of  a  tennis-court  at 
Fontenay-le-Comte ;  so  apparently  he,  and  not  Moliere, 
was  the  manager  of  "The  Duke  of  Epernon's  Come- 
dians." Being  a  man  of  greater  experience,  it  was  but 
natural  for  him  to  assume  the  leadership  until  his  com- 
rade's genius  asserted  itself  in  no  unmistakable  way. 
This  did  not  occur  until  after  the  company  reached 
Lyons ;  meantime  the  future  poet,  while  serving  his 
apprenticeship  in  stagecraft,  was  acquiring  much  in  the 
way  of  worldly  knowledge. 

A  writer  who  has  never  studied  in  the  school  of  emo- 
tion will  find  himself  ill-equipped  for  the  portrayal  of 
human  nature ;  so  perhaps  of  even  more  value  to  Moliere 
than  stage  experience  was  his  experience  with  the  sex. 
He  had  flaunted  himself  out  of  his  father's  house  because 
he  was  in  love  with  a  pretty  actress,  but  he  found  it  quite 
another  matter  to  remain  in  love  with  her  throughout  the 
years  he  spent  in  ox-carts,  barns,  and  hostelries.  When 
the  scales  had  fallen  from  his  eyes,  Madeleine  Bejart 
appeared  in  her  true  light,  —  a  clever  actress  and  a  good 
comrade,  yet  a  woman  older  than  himself,  and  one  whose 
life  was  not  above  reproach.  She,  on  the  other  hand, 
knowing  his  nature  thoroughly,  was  ready  to  pardon  his 
lesser  faults  because  of  her  implicit  faith  in  his  abounding 
genius.  His  failure  to  realise  that  she  was  the  one  above 
all  others  suited  to  be  his  helpmate  was  undoubtedly  a 
weakness  in  his  character ;  but  remember  he  shared  with 
her  the  countless  hardships  of  a  strolling  player's  life. 


COMEDIANS   OF   DUKE  J3F   EPERNON    43 

Though  a  vagabond,  he  could  never  forget  he  had  been 
born  above  his  station.  His  writings  and  his  unfortunate 
choice  of  a  wife  prove  that  he  possessed  a  distinct  ideal  of 
womanhood  Madeleine  Bejart  could  not  fulfil.  Never- 
theless, his  conduct  during  those  years  of  wandering,  if 
his  slanderers  are  to  be  believed,  was  none  too  scrupulous. 
According  to  the  author  of  The  Famous  Comedienne : 

When  the  troupe  arrived  at  Lyons,  they  met  another 
company  in  which  were  two  actresses  named  Du  Pare  and 
De  Brie.  Moliere  was  at  first  charmed  by  the  former's 
good  looks,  but  the  lady,  hoping  for  a  more  brilliant 
conquest,  treated  him  so  disdainfully  that  he  was  obliged 
to  turn  his  affections  toward  De  Brie.  She  received 
him  with  no  such  coldness,  and,  unable  to  avoid 
her,  he  engaged  her  in  his  company,  together  with 
Du  Pare. 

This  story  from  the  pen  of  a  slanderer  need  not  be 
accepted  in  its  entirety.  On  January  tenth,  1650,  Mo- 
liere and  Catherine  du  Rose  (or  Rozet)  stood  sponsors 
for  a  child  baptised  at  Narbonne,  while  on  February 
nineteenth,  1653,  the  poet  witnessed  Du  Parc's  marriage 
at  Lyons  with  Marquise  Therese  de  Gorla.  Catherine 
du  Rose  was  the  stage  name  of  Catherine  Leclerc,  who 
married  Edme  Villiquin,  a  surly  member  of  Moliere's 
company  called  Sieur  de  Brie.  After  her  marriage,  she 
became  known  as  Mile,  de  Brie.  Likewise  Marquise 
Therese  de  Gorla  (Marquise  being  a  name,  not  a  title), 
after  marrying  Du  Pare  (Gros-Rene),  adopted  her  fat 
husband's  name,  and  is  consequently  the  actress  re- 
ferred to  above  as  Du  Pare.  These  being  the  first 
authentic  dates  regarding  either  lady,  De  Brie,  rather 
than  her  rival,  would  seem  to  have  the  benefit  of  historic 
priority. 


44  MOLlfeRE 

Since  both  these  actresses  played  a  considerable  part  in 
the  poet's  life,  a  word  regarding  them  may  not  be  without 
interest.  (De  Brie  was  a  tall,  graceful  blonde,1  who  ap- 
peared in  tragedy  and  higher  class  comedy)  In  marked 
contrast, fou  Pare,  the  daughter  of  an  Italian  charlatan, 
was  a  stately  brunette,  who  played  second  tragedy  parts 
and  possessed  a  natural  talent  for  dancing  in  "  a  skirt  so 
split  down  the  sides  that  her  legs  and  part  of  her  thighs 
could  be  seen..!/  In  spite  of  her  great  beauty  and  won- 
derful pirouetting,  such  an  acknowledged  critic  as  Boileau 
found  Du  Pare  a  mediocre  actress ;  but  she  had  the  dis- 
tinction of  being  admired  by  the  four  greatest  geniuses 
of  the  century  —  Moliere  at  Lyons  in  1653,  Corneille 
at  Rouen  in  1658,  La  Fontaine  and  Racine  at  Paris  in 
1664. 

To  chronicle  all  the  meagre  details  of  the  poet's  early 
wanderings  would  be  to  record  a  tedious  list  of  documents 
and  dates  unearthed  from  time  to  time  by  some  ardent 
Moli'eriste.  Bordeaux,  Albi  Nantes,  Toulouse,  Carcas- 
sonne, Agen,  Limoges,  Narbonne,  and  Pezenas  are  towns 
where  some  trace  of  him  still  remains,  and  on  April  four- 
teenth, 1651,  he  was  in  Paris  in  connection  with  the 
settlement  of  his  mother's  estate. 

The  rebellion  of  the  Fronde  broke  out  in  1648  ;  soon 
the  Duke  of  Epernon  was  at  war  with  the  inhabitants  of 
Bordeaux ;  bands  of  marauding  soldiers  made  travelling 
dangerous,  a  livelihood  more  difficult  to  gain.  At  Nantes, 
a  troupe  of  marionettes  proved  a  successful  competitor, 
and  there  is  a  tradition  that  Moliere's  reception  at 
Limoges  was  so  hostile  that  the  poet's  antipathy  for 

1  Grimarest  quotes  a  friend  of  Moliere's  as  speaking  of  La  de 


(evidently  De  Brie)  as  plain  and  "a  skeleton";    but   this  is  manifest 
malice. 


COMEDIANS   OF   DUKE   OF   EPERNON     45 

the  place  rankled  in  his  heart  until  twenty  years  later  he 
wrote  Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac  in  revenge ;  but  up  to  the 
time  he  reached  Lyons  there  is  little  to  distinguish  his 
life  from  that  of  any  other  strolling  player  of  the  day. 

The  time  of  his  arrival  at  the  capital  of  ancient  Gaul^ 
as  well  as  the  date  of  the  production  of  The  Blunderer ; 
or.  The  Mishaps  (UE,tmrdi  ou  les  Contretemps)^  his 
first  successful  comedy  in  verse,  has  never  been  conclu- 
sively settled.  Grimarest,  however,  is  emphatic  on  the 
latter  point.  "  Moliere  and  his  troupe,"  he  says,  "were 
loudly  applauded  in  Lyons  in  16^3,  where  he  presented 
The  Blunderer" ;  and  the  preface  of  1682  likewise  states 
that  "  Moliere  came  to  Lyons  in  1653  and  there  gave  to 
the  public  his  first  comedy,  called  The  Blunderer"  Such 
twofold  evidence  would  appear  convincing  were  it  not 
for  a  direct  contradiction  to  the  effect  that  "  this  piece 
was  presented  for  the  first  time  at  Lyons  in  the 
year  1655." 

This  latter  quotation  is  from  La  Grange's  famous 
Register  (Registre  de  la  Grange].  (La  Grange  was  an 
actor  who  joined  Moliere  at  Paris  in  1658^  From  the 
time  he  became  a  member  of  the  company  until  his 
death,  he  kept  a  minute  account  of  its  receipts  and  dis- 
bursements, with  the  dates  and  titles  of  the  plays  pro- 
duced. So  emphatic  a  statement  by  him  as  the  foregoing 
cannot  be  passed  by  without  consideration.  La  Grange 
was  known  in  real  life  as  Charles  Varlet;  in  1672  he 
married  Marie  Ragueneau,  formerly  Mile,  de  Erie's  maid, 
but  then  a  character  actress  in  Moliere's  company.  This 
lady's  father  was  Cyprien  Ragueneau  de  1'Estang,  the 
pastry-cook  poet,  made  familiar  to  present-day  readers 
by  Edmond  Rostand's  Cyrano  de  Bergerac.  To  escape 
his  creditors,  Ragueneau  fled  from  Paris  and  became  a 


46  MOLIERE 

strolling  player,  but  hopeless  alike  as  pastry-cook,  poet, 
and  comedian,  he  fell  once  more  in  the  artistic  scale  and 
ended  his  life  in  1654  as  moucheur,  or  candle  snuffer,  to 
a  Lyons  play-house.1 

La  Grange,  Ragueneau's  son-in-law,  would  seem,  at 
first  sight,  to  have  been  in  a  position  to  know  the  truth 
regarding  Moliere's  various  peregrinations  to  Lyons,  but 
before  accepting  his  statement  that  The  Blunderer  was  not 
produced  until  1655,  it  is  well  to  remember  that  he  did 
not  enter  the  company  until  1658,  nor  marry  Mile. 
Ragueneau  until  eighteen  years  after  her  father's  death. 
He  was  somewhat  confused  in  regard  to  the  date  of 
Moliere's  own  marriage,  an  event  which  took  place  under 
his  very  eyes ;  so  to  believe  that  he  made  a  mistake  in 
recording  a  play  produced  five  years  before  he  was  a 
member  of  the  "  Troupe  de  Moliere,"  requires  no  great 
exercise  of  one's  credulity. 

There  is  other  evidence  that  La  Grange  was  in  error. 
An  interesting  document  has  been  unearthed  in  the 
library  of  the  Count  of  Pont-de-Veyle,  which  sheds 
light  upon  the  date  of  Moliere's  advent  in  Lyons. 
Written  in  a  time-worn  hand,  evidently  of  the  period, 
the  following  distribution  of  parts  was  found  in  a  copy 
of  an  early  edition  of  Corneille's  Andromeda : 

1  In  the  last  act  of  Rostand's  play,  Ragueneau  appears  as  a  moucbeur 
at  a  Paris  play-house,  and  tells  the  dying  Cyrano  that  Moliere  has 
pilfered  a  scene  from  his  farce  The  Tricked  Pedant  (Le  Pedant  joue).  It 
is  true  that  the  scene  referred  to  is  found  in  Moliere's  Rascalities  of 
Scapin  (Les  Fourberies  de  Scapiri),  but  Ragueneau  died  at  Lyons  in  1654, 
and  De  Bergerac  at  Paris  in  1655,  while  Moliere  did  not  return  to  the 
capital  until  1658  and  his  farce  was  not  played  until  1671.  To  paint 
Ragueneau  as  a  candle  snuffer  in  Paris  at  the  time  this  piece  was  pro- 
duced, and  likewise  as  a  witness  of  De  Bergerac' s  demise  a  year  after 
his  own  death,  is  justifiable  only  by  a  very  broad  poetic  license. 


COMEDIANS   OF   DUKE   OF   EPERNON    47 

Jupiter Du  Pare 

Juno,  and  Andromeda   ....  Mile.  Bejart 

Neptune De  Brie 

Mercury,  and  a  page  of  Phineus    .  L'Eguise  (Louis  Bejart) 

The  Sun,  and  Timanthes    .     .     .  Bejart  (Joseph) 

Venus,  Cymodocia,  and  Aglanthia  Mile,  de  Brie 

Melpomene,  and  Cephalus .     .     .  Mile.  Herve  (Genevieve  Bejart) 

^Eolus,  and  Ammon      ....  Vauselle 

Ephyra Mile.  Menou 

Cydippe,  and  Liriope    ....  Mile.  Magdelon 

The  Eight  Winds Supernumeraries 

Cepheus Dufresne 

Cassiopeia Mile.  Vauselle 

Phineus Chasteauneuf 

Perseus Moliere 

Chorus  of  the  people     ....  Lestang 

L'Eguise,  meaning  "  the  sharp-tongued,"  was  the  nick- 
name of  Louis  Bejart,  Madeleine's  younger  brother,  aged 
twenty-three  or  thereabouts,  who  had  probably  made  his 
debut  several  years  previously.  Chasteauneuf  was  an 
actor  who  again  became  associated  with  Moliere  at  a  later 
day  ;  and  Vauselle  is  the  stage  name  of  Jean-Baptiste 
PHermite,  whose  wife,  Mile.  Vauselle  —  or  Marie  Cour- 
tin  de  la  Dehors —  supplanted  Madeleine  Bejart  in  the 
affections  of  Monsieur  de  Modene,  and  whose  daughter, 
Madeleine  THermite,  became  the  second  wife  of  that  in- 
constant nobleman.  Mile.  Menou  is  a  lady  to  whom 
there  will  be  occasion  to  refer  in  a  later  chapter ;  but 
of  most  moment,  now,  is  Lestang,  none  other  than  the 
bankrupt  pastry-cook  Ragueneau,  reduced  to  playing 
the  humble  chorus  of  the  people  under  a  stage  name. 
The  addition  of  all  these  players  to  "  The  Duke  of 
fipernor^s  Comedians "  indicates  that  Andromecla  was 
performecT  By^tnTs^cast  in  some  large  town,  and  the 


48  MOLIERE 

presence    of    Ragueneau    would   point   to    it    as    being 
Lyons. 

Moliere  may  have  reached  that  city  as  early  as  1651, 
when  he  is  supposed  to  have  visited  an  academician 
named  Boissat  at  the  neighbouring  town  of  Vienne ; 
his  presence  there  on  December  nineteenth,  1652,  when 
Reveillon  stood  sponsor  for  a  child,  is  indicated  strongly  ; 
on  February  nineteenth,  1653,  when  he  himself  wit- 
nessed the  marriage  of  Gros-Rene  and  Marquise  de 
Gorla,  it  is  assured. 

A  vagabond  poet  named  D'Assoucy,  who  spent  three 
months  at  Lyons  in  1655,  failed  to  embellish  his  eccen- 
tric memoirs l  by  any  account  of  so  momentous  an  event 
as  his  actor  friend's  first  success  in  comedy ;  and  as 
Ragueneau  died  on  August  eighteenth,  1654,  both 
Andromeda  and  The  Blunderer  were,  in  all  probability, 
played  in  Lyons  in  1653. 

Far  easier  to  decipher  than  the  date  of  Moliere's  first 
appearance  at  Lyons  is  the  reason  for  his  advent  there. 
During  the  rebellion  of  the  Fronde  "  The  Duke  of 
Epernon's  Comedians,"  an  experienced  company  with  a 
repertory  of  standard  plays,  were  forced  by  their  patron's 
political  misdeeds  and  consequent  unpopularity  to  leave 
Guyenne  and  seek  a  new^field.  In  all  that  pertained  to 
the  production  of  plays,(Moliere  had  become  the  direct- 
ing spirit,  while  Madeleine  Bejart  kept  an  eye  on  the 
finances^  JQufresne,  an  old  stager  already  known  at 
Lyons,  was  still  the  nominal  head  of  the  organisation, 
and,  confident  that  in  the  capital  of  ancient  Gaul  lay 
their  best  chance  of  fortune,  he  directed  the  steps  of 
his  comrades  thither. 

1  Les  Aventures  de  Monsieur  <T  Astoucy. 


COMEDIANS   OF  DUKE   OF  EPERNON    49 

Caravans  from   Germany,  Provence,  and  Italy  filled 
the  streets  of  Lyons  then,  and   transalpine  merchants 
bartered  for  the  product  of  her  looms.    Jews  from  Lom- 
bardy  and  Frankfort  drove  bargains  in  bills  of  exchange- 
but,  of  far  more  import  to  Moliere  and  his  comrades 
Lvons^was  the  haunt  of  the  poet  and  exquisite,  —  the 
provincial  Mecca  of  the  strolling  player.     There  many 
iew  plays  were  produced,  and  a  theatrical  success  won 
upon  the  Lyons  stage  was  little  short  of  a  Parisian  tri- 
umph.   When  the  poet  made  his  first  hit  before  an  audi- 
ence of  critical  Lyonnais  with  a  comedy  in  verse,  he  ceased 
to  be  an  unknown  «  barn-stormer  " ;  indeed,  the  outburst 
f  genuine  laughter  which  greeted  The  Blunderer  has  re- 
echoed through  the  centuries;  nevertheless,  the  story  of 
that  first  triumph  must  give  place  for  the  moment  to  a 
word  upon  Moliere's  earlier  dramatic  work. 


jo  MOLIERE 


IV 
EARLY   DRAMATIC   EFFORTS 

A  TRAGEDY  called  The  Thebald  (La  Thebalde)  —  suppos- 
edly played  at  Bordeaux  in  1 646  —  has  been  invented, 
without  corroborative  proof,  as  Moliere's  first  play. 
This  fanciful  effort  of  our  poet's  youth  has  also  been 
acclaimed  the  inspiration  of  Racine's  tragedy  of  the 
same  name ;  but  certainly  until  the  production  of  The 
Blunderer  the  truth  concerning  Moliere's  work  as  a 
dramatist  is  overshadowed  by  imagination.  In  all  prob- 
ability his  first  piece  was  never  written  at  all  —  a  paradox 
inspired  by  the  nature  of  the  roaring  farces  he  had  seen 
played  in  his  youth. 

Even  the  best  of  these  were  given  so  empirically  as  an 
antidote  for  tragedy  that  they  found  no  place  in  the  liter- 
ary pharmacopoeia  of  the  day  ;  for,  as  has  been  noted 
in  a  previous  chapter,  such  farces  were  bare  outlines  to 
which  the  actor's  wit  applied  the  dialogue.  Used  as 
afterpieces  at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  or  as  drawing 
cards  for  prating  quacks,  they  were  but  Italian  scenarii 
adapted  to  French  usage,  while  the  farceur  himself 
remained  the  servile  imitator  of  the  Italian  buffoon. 

The  action  was  developed  in  a  single  act,  and  to  per- 
mit the  player  to  suit  the  humour  of  his  audience,  prose 
was  the  vehicle  employed.  Verse  being  the  medium  of 
both  tragedy  and  comedy,  farce  consequently  was  with- 


EARLY   DRAMATIC   EFFORTS  51 

out  the  literary  pale,  and  about  the  time  Moliere  fled 
from  Paris  it  was  banished  altogether  from  established 
play-houses.  Until  he  made  the  King  laugh  with  a  farce 
from  his  own  pen,  this  coarse  form  of  merriment  was 
confined  to  the  booths  of  quack  doctors  or  the  barns 
and  tennis-courts  of  provincial  France. 

Needless  to  say  that  pieces  intended  to  amuse  an  audi- 
ence of  yokels  in  an  age  of  license,  were  distinguished 
by  neither  refinement  nor  finesse.  They  have  been  aptly 
described  as  composed  of  "imbecile  old  men,  young 
libertines,  women  of  every  kind  —  except  the  good,  two 
or  three  disguises,  three  or  four  surprises,  combats,  and 
tumults."  As  the  earliest  of  Moliere's  existing  farces 
were  much  in  the  vein  of  these  buffooneries,  his  first 
attempt  at  play-making  was  probably  an  unwritten  dose 
of  humour  administered  by  "The  Duke  of  Epernon's 
Comedians"  to  drive  away  the  melancholy  resulting  from 
some  turgid  drama. 

Although  a  great  poet  and  a  still  greater  philosopher, 
Moliere  was  considered  a  farceur  by  his  contemporaries, 

—  a  crime  in  him  that  Boileau  never  pardoned.    He  began 
and  ended  his  life  work  with  farce ;  whenever  he  forsook 
this  form  of  construction  it  was  to  gratify  his  King  or  to 
unburden  his  own  heart.     Because  of  a  genius  for  jug- 
glery, or   rather  an  unerring  skill   in  painting  human 
nature,   his   deft  hand  often  made  farce  appear  in  the 
guise  of  character  comedy ;  but  when  the  most  popular 
of  his   plays   are   analysed  —  plays   with   characters  so 
human  as  Harpagon  the  miser,  Monsieur  Jourdain  the 
socially  ambitious  parvenu,  and  Argan  the  hypochondriac 

—  they  are  found  to  be  farces  in  construction,  traceable 

to  Italian,  Spanish,  or  classical  sources. 
^ ^*™ •••••••|™"1" "^'^^•••^••••••••^•••••••^•••^^ 

This  is  not  said  by  way  oFreproach.     Moliere  boasted 


52  MOLIERE 

that  "he  took  possession  of  his  property  wherever  found,"1 
and  literary  grave  robbery  was  then  a  petty  offence.  In- 
deed, in  all  literary  justice,  every  author  who  embalms  a 
stolen  body  and  dresses  it  so  gorgeously  in  garments  of 
his  own  creation  that  it  is  mistaken  for  an  idol  should 
receive  a  high  priest's  homage,  not  a  desecrator's  male- 
diction. Moliere  did  even  more :  he  created  French 
comedy  from  the  dust  of  Menander  and  Plautus,  breath- 
ing into  it  the  spirit  of  Italian  mummery. 

Finding  himself  a  member  of  a  strolling  company  sorely 
in  need  of  farces,  and  having  a  better  education  than  his 
comrades,  he  began  their  manufacture.  Naturally  he 
turned  for  his  models  to  those  seen  in  his  youth,  —  the 
Italian  scenarii  of  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon,  the 
canevas  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  and  the  Pont-Neuf. 
Gros-Rene:  A  School-boy  (Gros-Rene:  holier) ,  The  Three 
Rival  Doctors  (Les  Trois  docteurs  rivaux),  The  School- 
master  (Le  Maitre  d'ecole),  Gorgibus  in  the  Bag  (Gorgibus 
dans  le  sac).  The  Fagot  Gatherer  (Le  Fagotier),  The 
Physician  in  Love  (Le  Docteur  amoureux),  Gros-Ren'es 
Jealousy  (La  Jalousie  du  Gros-Rene),  and  The  Cassock 
(La  Casaque)  are  the  titles  of  canevas  attributed  to 
Moliere ;  but  the  only  examples  of  this  form  of  work 
which  have  been  preseryjsd  are  The  Jealousy  of  Smutty 
Face  (La  Jalousie  du  barbouille)  and  The  Flying  Physician 
(Le  Medecin  volant).  These  two  early  attempts,  both 
of  uncertain  date,  are  as  crude  as  their  author's  models, 
and  unworthy  of  notice  except  as  forming  the  stepping- 
stones  of  a  genius  toward  fame. 

The  Jealousy  of  Smutty  Face,  suggestive  of  a  story  by 
Boccaccio,  but  probably  taken  by   Moliere  from   some 
Italian  scenario,  is  merely  a  jumble  in  one  act  of  broad 
1  See  note,  page  351. 


EARLY   DRAMATIC   EFFORTS  53 

humour  with  little  variety  of  scene  or  story.  A  wife's 
father  and  a  pedant  intervene  in  a  matrimonial  squabble 
in  a  comic  but  inconclusive  way,  and  the  closing  speech, 
"  Let 's  all  take  supper  together,"  shows  the  tenor  of  thistr 
'  bit  of  aimless  fun.  The  character  of  the  pedant  is  note- 
worthy as  heralding  the  ostentatious  but  empirical  man  of 
learning  Moliere  so  delighted  in  portraying  later.  To 
hold  impostures  up  to  scorn  became  his  aim  in  after  life, 
I  and  jealousy  the  keynote  of  his  own  misery.  By  a 
coincidence  almost  prophetic,  the  pedant  and  the  jealous 
husband  both  appear  in  this,  his  earliest  existing  play. 

The  Flying  Physician  is  merely  a  French  adaptation 
of  //  Medico  volant e,  a  scenario  played  by  Scaramouch e. 
Entirely  Italian  in  spirit  and  far  less  simple  than  its 
predecessor,  it  is,  in  brief,  a  coarse  farce  in  one  act  of 
"three  or  four  surprises  and  two  or  three  disguises." 
The  use  here  made  of  a  door  and  a  window  by  a  character 
who  disappears  and  reappears  as  speedily  as  Harlequin  in 
the  Christmas  pantomime,  indicates  that  Moliere's  com- 
pany carried  scenery,  while  its  story  of  a  lover  aided  by  a 
rascally  servant  in  outwitting  an  obdurate  father,  a  favour- 
ite theme  of  Italian  farce,  recurs  more  than  once  in  the 
poet's  later  plays.  A  matter  of  more  moment,  however, 
is  the  first  appearance  here  of  the  merry-andrew  character, 
Sganarelle.  To  aid  a  pair  of  lovers,  he  is  represented  as 
assuming  a  doctor's  guise,  and  it  is  interesting  to  note 
that  this  incident  became  the  motive  of  Moliere's  far 
more  amusing  farce,  The  Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself  (Le 
Medecin  malgre  /#/'). 

In  The  Flying  Physician   Sganarelle  is  represented  as 
a  masquerading  foitrbe,  or  knave,  and  one    is  tempted 
to  believe  that  injdb^jgd^mal 
Mascarille  —  a  name   derived   from    the    Spanish    term 


54  MOLIERE 

mascarilla,  meaning  a  little  mask,  or  from  the  Italian  word 
maschera  —  and  used  by  Moliere  in  other  farces  of  this 
period  to  designate  this  same  rascally,  intriguing  servant 
of  Italian  origin.  Sganarelle,  being  a  French  translitera- 
tion of  the  Italian  word  Zannarelloy  the  diminutive  of 
Zanni  (a  familiar  form  of  Giovanni),  is  our  English  zany, 
a  silly-John,  or  foolish  clown  in  a  play.  In  all  other 
instances  Moliere's  Sganarelle,  even  when  endowed  with 
the  attributes  of  a  French  bourgeois  and  voicing  the 
poet's  own  sentiments,  was  within  this  definition. 

A  recurrence  of  the  same  character  in  successive  pieces 
was  so  usual  at  the  time,  that  farceurs,  both  Italian  and 
French,  became  known  by  the  roles  they  played  habitu- 
ally ;  thus,  the  Italian  buffoon,  Tiberio  Fiurelli,  was 
called  Scaramouche  ;  and  Rene  Berthelot — Du  Pare  of 
Moliere's  company  —  Gros-Rene.  Moliere  discarded 
the  role  of  his  early  successes  shortly  after  his  return  to 
Paris,  and  his  reputation  as  an  author  soon  overshadowed 
his  histrionic  ability,  else  he  would  probably  have  been 
known  to  posterity  as  Mascarille. 

Both  Mascarille  and  Sganarelle  are  more  than  mere  \  > 
low-comedy  characters.  Each  represents  a  period  of  (/ 
Moliere's  work  and  a  distinct  phase  in  his  development. 
When  he  began  writing  farce,  he  was  a  dweller  in  that 
land  of  the  free  and  home  of  the  beautiful  we  call 
Bohemia :  to  thwart  a  bailiff  was  his  pastime  ;  to  supply 
humour  for  a  company  of  strolling  players  his  chief 
care.  The  farces  and  comedies  he  wrote  under  these 
conditions  are  entirely  in  the  spirit  of  Italian  zanyism  ; 
and  sprightly,  quick-witted  Mascarille,  their  recurring 
character,  is  typical  of  these  happy-go-lucky  days  in  the 
poet's  own  life.  This  Mascarille,  the  gran  furbo  of 
decadent  Italy,  is  a  rascal,  cunning  to  a  degree,  and 


EARLY   DRAMATIC   EFFORTS  55 

wholly  without  morals.  His  intimacy  with  his  master 
is  transalpine,  too,  for  as  some  Frenchman  contends  — 
and  if  memory  serves  it  is  Stendhal  —  "in  Italy  there 
is  a  diversity  in  fortune,  but  none  in  manners."  Moliere 
made  no  attempt  to  gallicise  either  the  plots  or  the 
characters  of  his  earlier  plays,  and  even  The  Blunderer, 
though  an  ambitious  comedy  in  verse,  is  really  an 
adaptation. 

This  first,  or  Italian,  period  ended  in   1659  with  the 
production  of  Les  Precieuses  ridicules^  that  play  of  un- 
translatable title  —  unless  one  is  willing  to  countenance   , 
The  Laughable  Lady-Euphuists.     Mascarille,  a   natural- 
ised   Frenchman  at  last,  made   his  final    appearance  in    \ 
this  brilliant  comedy  of  manners :  the  first  true  flight 
of  Moliere's  genius  beyond  Italian  zanyism.  J 

If  Mascarille  be  typical  of  the  Italian,  Sganarelle  may  \ 
be  said  to  represent  the  second,  or  Gallic,  period  of  \ 
Moliere's  work.  Discarding  transalpine  models,  except 
as  bare  suggestions  in  the  way  of  plots,  the  poet  became 
truly  national  ;  for  in  such  comedies  as  The  School  for 
Husbands  (V  Ecole  des  marts ,  1661),  The  School  for  Wives 
(L'Ecole  des  femmes,  1662),  and  The  Forced  Marriage 
(Le  Mariage  force,  1664),  his  point  of  view  is  essentially 
Gallic,  his  wit  in  the  spirit  of  Rabelais.  Sganarelle, 
too,  though  first  a  zany,  is  always  a  bourgeois  through 
and  through,  and  often  a  jealous  man  of  forty  in  love 
with  a  young  coquette  :  in  other  words,  a  Frenchman 
and  another  phase  of  the  poet  himself. 

Closely  allied  with  the  Gallic,  in  point  of  time,  was 
the  third,  or  obsequious,  period  when  Moliere's  art 
became  a  courtier's  stratagem.  To  win  the  favour  of 
his  King,  he  wrote  court  plays,  such  as  The  Bores 
(Les  Facheux,  1661),  The  Versailles  Impromptu  (LIm- 


56  MOLIERE 

promptu  de  Versailles,  1663),  and  various  ballets  for 
the  royal  fetes.  They  were  merely  a  means  to  an 
end,  but  none  the  less  they  represent  another  aspect 
of  Moliere.  He  no  longer  walked  in  Italian  leading- 
strings,  and  his  wit  became  more  delicate  than  the  broad 
Gallic  humour  of  Sganarelle;  but  he  was  Moliere,  the 
courtier,  a  man  who  felt  it  an  honour  to  make  the  King's 
bed,  who  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  sign  his  name 
valet  de  chambre  tapissier  du  roi.1 

When  thus  assured  of  his  monarch's  protection,  he 
arose  in  all  his  strength  and  became  the  poet  militant. 
Two  masterpieces,  The  Hypocrite  (Le  Tartuffe)  and  The 
Misanthrope,  distinguish  the  fourth  period,  or  that  of 
aggression.  Success  walked  hand  in  hand  with  him, 
but  happiness  had  turned  aside;  gaining  full  knowl- 
edge of  the  canting  world  after  "  the  voice  of  all  the 
gods  "  had  spoken  bitterly,  he  became  the  champion  of 
truth,  the  implacable  foe  of  imposture  and  formalism. 
Realising  to  the  full  his  highest  duty,  he  attacked  the 
foibles  and  hypocrisy  of  society  with  "ridiculous  like- 
nesses/' His  genius  reached  its  zenith  then. 

In  the  period  that  followed,  his  powers  began  to  wane, 
almost  imperceptibly,  it  is  true,  but  with  a  recognition  of 
the  futility  of  breaking  lances  against  church  walls  which 
left  him  content  with  satirical  rapier  play.  Apprentice 
in  an  Italian  workshop,  then  Gallic  journeyman,  courtier, 
and  knight-errant,  he  became  at  last  a  master  craftsman ; 
for,  if  the  period  of  The  Hypocrite  and  The  Misanthrope 
was  militant,  the  next,  and  last,  was  fully  histrionic. 

1  Even  when  a  strolling  player,  he  signed  his  name  at  Narbonne,  in 
1650,  as  "  Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin,  valet  de  chambre  du  roi,"  although 
he  had  previously  renounced  the  reversion  of  his  father's  office  in  favour 
of  his  younger  brother. 


EARLY   DRAMATIC   EFFORTS  57 

To  be  convinced  of  this  one  need  only  study  the 
Moliere  repertory  of  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  at  the  pres- 
ent time.  The  Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself y  The  Miser, 
The  Burgher,  a  Gentleman  (Le  Bourgeois  gentilhomme), 
The  Rascalities  of  Scapin  (Les  Fourberies  de  Scapin),  The 
Learned  Women  (Les  Femmes  savantes),  and  The  Imaginary 
Invalid,  the  most  readily  acted  as  well  as  the  most  fre- 
quently presented  of  his  plays,  were  still  to  be  written, 
and  all  during  the  last  seven  years  of  his  life.  It  was  a 
period  of  unerring  success  from  the  dramatic  point  of 
view;  but  one  may  still  search  through  it  in  vain  for  a 
poetical  masterpiece  of  human  philosophy  such  as  The 
Misanthrope. 

This  division  of  Moliere's  work  into  five  periods  has 
been  made  in  order  that  the  reader  may  understand  how 
thoroughly  the  poet's  muse  was  affected  by  the  events  of 
his  own  life.  An  author  may  write  what  he  has  seen, 
what  he  has  felt,  or  what  he  has  imagined  ;  and  Moliere's 
work,  like  that  of  nearly  every  genius,  was  a  constant 
blending  of  the  three.  He  wrote  what  he  saw  and  what 
he  imagined,  yet  his  writing  was  invariably  tempered  by 
his  own  feelings  at  the  time.  In  his  plays  one  may  read 
the  story  of  his  life :  Mascarille,  the  light-hearted  bohe- 
mian ;  Sganarelle,  the  jealous  man  of  forty  seeking  do- 
mestic happiness  in  vain;  Eraste,  the  courtier  and  wit 
condemned  to  be  bored  since  he  durst  not  offend  ;  Alceste, 
the  generous  misanthrope  who,  in  spite  of  his  philosophy 
of  life  and  knowledge  of  the  world's  imposture,  loves  a  S 
heartless  coquette  because  "he  cannot  banish  all  past 
tenderness,  howsoever  ardently  he  longs  to  hate  her  ";  and 
in  a  way,  Argan,  the  hawking  invalid,  married  to  a  faith- 
less wife,  —  are,  part  by  part,  Moliere  himself,  concealed 
little  more  than  the  ostrich  with  its  head  in  the  sand. 


58  MOLlfeRE 

To  appreciate  how  unconsciously  his  imagination  was 
influenced  by  experience,  one  should  have  undergone  the 
discouragement,  indifference,  toleration,  praise,  and  envy 
which  are  the  lot  of  even  a  moderately  successful  author ; 
above  all,  realise  that  "  learning  is  but  an  adjunct  to  our- 
self,"  for  in  the  words  of  Moliere's  one  surpassing  rival : 

«•  Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write 

Until  his  ink  were  temper'd  with  love*s  sighs  ; 
Oh,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears 
And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 
From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 
They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire ; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world : 
Else  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent." 

This  grouping  of  Moliere's  plays  as  Italian,  Gallic, 
time-serving,  militant,  and  histrionic,  in  accordance  with 
the  poet's  varying  sentiments  and  ambitions,  may  be  open 
to  challenge ;  but  any  classification  from  a  purely  literary 
point  of  view  would  be  more  difficult  to  compass,  since, 
partly  owing  to  fear  of  giving  too  great  offence,  partly  to 
wise  generalship,  his  work  invariably  took  a  reactionary 
turn  after  each  step  in  advance. 

Returning  to  the  first,  or  Italian  period,  it  should  be 
borne  in  mind  that  only  .jour  of  Moliere's  earlier  pieces 
have  been  preserved :  The  Jealousy  of  Smutty  Facey  The 
Flying  Physician,  The  Blunderer,  and  The  Love  Tiff  (Le 
Depit  amoureux).1  The  first  two,  as  has  been  seen,  are 
unworthy  of  consideration  in  the  literary  sense ;  bu/  The 
Blunderer,  his  first  play  in  verse,  was  likewise  the  first 
demonstration  that  he  possessed  qualities  beyond  those 

1  The  Love  Tiff,  produced  at  Beziers  in  1656,  is  considered  in  the 
ensuing  chapter. 


EARLY   DRAMATIC   EFFORTS  59 

of  a  mere  farceur^  When  Moliere  wrote  this  piece, 
tragi-comedy  had  banished  farce  to  the  provinces.  Pure 
comedy  did  not  exist.  Corneille,  it  is  true,  had  trans- 
formed a  Spanish  comedia1  into  the  versified  'The  Liar,  a 
so-called  comedy,  and  in  doing  this  he  is  said  to  have 
pointed  the  road  for  Moliere.  When  the  younger  poet 
turned  an  Italian  comedia  into  another  so-called  comedy 
and  named  it  'The  Blunderer,  he  did  no  more  than  follow 
in  the  footsteps  of  his  guide. 

A  farce  is  a  play  full  of  exaggeration  and  drollery ;  a 
comedy,  a  dramatic  picture  of  life  treated  sincerely  but 
lightly.  Absurd  situations  distinguish  the  one ;  truth 
and  characterisation  the  other  ;  therefore,  in  spite  of 
their  Alexandrine  verses  and  five-act  construction,  both 
The  Liar  and  The  Blunderer  were  but  exotic  farces  trans- 
planted to  French  soil  under  a  false  name. 

By  putting  stage  humour  into  literary  form,  Corneille 
pointed  the  road,  perhaps,  but  he  did  not  create  French 
comedy.  To  Moliere  belongs  thatjionpur ;  for  although 
farcicaF  in~~cbnstruction,  Les  Pr'ecieuses  ridicules  is  the  first 
true  dramatic  picture  of  the  light  and  trivial  occurrences 
of  French  life.  However,  Moliere's  first  genuine  comedy 
must  give  place  for  the  time  being  to  the  story  of  his  first 
success. 

When  he  reached  Lyons  about  1653,  he  was  still  a 
strolling  player  whose  farces  had  no  more  merit  than 
those  of  any  other  play-hack  of  the  time.  They  were, 
indeed,  so  coarse  that  he  felt  called  upon  to  write  some- 
thing more  suitable  to  the  taste  of  a  cosmopolitan  city, 
and,  as  the  rich  of  Lyons  were  bankers  from  Lombardy 
and  Tuscany,  an  Italian  motive  seemed  most  likely  to  fill 
the  coffers  of  his  company. 

1  La  Verdad  sospecbosa. 


60  MOLlfiRE 

Troupes  of  comedians  from  Italy  had  frequently  made 
pilgrimages  to  the  city  by  the  Rhone  ;  and  one  in  partic- 
ular, called  the  Gelosi,  led  by  Francesco  Andreini,  together 
with  his  more  celebrated  sister,  Isabella,  had  even  had  the 
honour  of  playing  at  Paris  before  Louis  XIII,  when 
Moliere  was  a  lad.  In  this  company  was  a  comedian 
named  Nicolo  Barbieri,  known  on  the  stage  as  Beltrame, 
who,  like  Moliere,  was  a  composer  of  farces  for  his  troupe. 
Barbieri,  becoming  more  ambitious,  decided  to  embroider 
one  of  his  best  scenani  into  a  written  farce ;  but  the 
subject  had  been  used  by  Plautus  and,  again,  by  a  blind 
poet  of  the  Renaissance  named  Luigi  Groto  ;  so  he  could 
hardly  lay  claim  to  it  as  his  own  property. 

Moliere,  following  in  Barbieri's  footsteps,  thought  the 
time-worn  plot  of  this  play,  The  Dolt  (L'lnawertito), 
might  be  worked  over  so  as  to  appeal  once  more  to  the 
Italian  taste  of  Lyons  ;  and  when  it  had  been  refurbished 
in  Alexandrine  verse  and  rechristened  by  him,  it  became 
The  Blunderer;  or,  The  Mishaps  (UEtourdi  ou  les  Centre- 
temps).  Because  its  five-act  construction  and  classical 
versification  raise  it,  from  a  purely  literary  point  of  view, 
far  above  the  level  of  farce,  many  critics  accept  this  play 
as  Moliere' s  first  real  comedy ;  but  when  looked  at  from 
the  stage  point  of  view,  it  stands  as  farce  pure  and 
simple.  Filled  with  absurd  and  improbable  situations,  it 
could  by  no  stretch  of  the  imagination  be  styled  a  sincere 
dramatic  picture  of  life.  To  be  convinced  of  this,  one 
need  only  to  study  its  exaggerated  plot. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Messina,  where  Pandolfe,  a  worthy 
citizen,  has  arranged  that  his  son  Lelie  shall  marry 
Hippolyte,  the  daughter  of  Anselme,  his  bosom  friend. 
Unfortunately  for  the  realisation  of  this  parental  scheme, 
Lelie  is  in  love  with  Clelie,  a  beautiful  slave,  owned  by  a 


EARLY   DRAMATIC   EFFORTS  61 

cantankerous  master  named  Trufaldin,  while  Hippolyte 
has  bestowed  her  unrequited  affections  upon  Leandre,  a 
young  man  of  good  family,  who,  like  Lelie,  is  infatuated 
with  the  slave  girl  and  intent  upon  possessing  her.  Lelie 
is  the  blunderer  whose  stupidities  give  the  piece  its  name  ; 
Mascarille,his  rascally  servant,  whose  mischievous  schemes 
to  aid  in  rescuing  Clelie  from  the  hands  of  Trufaldin  are 
unwittingly  blocked  by  his  master. 

To  thread  the  maze  of  Mascarille's  intrigues  and  Lelie's 
blundering  would  only  weary  the  reader  ;  for  the  rascal's 
trickery,  though  amusing  when  presented  before  an  audi- 
ence, is  highly  improbable  and  hard  to  follow.  As  he 
invariably  fails  to  inform  his  master  of  his  schemes,  the 
latter  as  conscientiously  upsets  them  by  some  stupid  coun- 
terplot. Whether  it  be  a  plan  to  make  old  Anselme 
overlook  a  purse  he  has  dropped  by  flattering  him  with 
a  story  of  a  lady's  languishing  love  for  him,  or  an  at- 
tempt to  enter  Trufaldin's  house  with  a  party  of  maskers 
for  the  purpose  of  abducting  Clelie,  the  outcome  is  the 
same.  Lelie  either  picks  up  the  purse  and  returns  it  to 
its  lawful  owner,  or  warns  Trufaldin  of  the  intended  raid, 
before  Mascarille  can  make  him  aware  that  he  is  spoiling 
a  scheme  to  purloin  the  purchase  price  of  Clelie  or  a 
brilliant  plan  to  forestall  his  rival,  Leandre. 

In  fact,  the  plot  of  The  Blunderer  is  one  quick  succes- 
sion of  knaveries  in  which  Mascarille,  by  the  use  of 
every  stratagem  he  can  invent,  endeavours  to  obtain  pos- 
session of  Clelie  in  the  interest  of  a  master  who,  with  the 
best  of  intentions,  is  ever  upsetting  the  rascal's  plans, 
until  he  finally  exclaims  that  he  will  no  longer  ask  help 
because  he  is  "  a  dog,  a  traitor,  a  detestable  wretch  whom 
death  alone  can  succour,  unworthy  of  aid  and  incapable 
of  anything."  But  before  suicide  can  orown  Lelie's  folly, 


62  MOLIERE 

Clelie  turns  out  to  be  Trufaldin's  long-lost  daughter 
and  is  duly  given  in  marriage  to  her  blundering  lover. 
Leandre  requites  Hippolyte's  enduring  passion,  and 
Mascarille  exclaims  in  his  single  blessedness,  "  May 
heaven  give  us  children  whose  fathers  we  really  are !  " 

Mr.  Richard  Mansfield  once  told  the  present  writer 
that  he  would  not  accept  a  play  unless  the  scenario  could 
be  written  on  a  visiting  card.  He  meant  that  a  well- 
constructed  modern  piece  should  tell  its  story  so  concisely 
that  the  curtain  situations,  climax,  and  denouement  could 
be  indicated  within  limits  so  narrow.  Judged  by  such  a 
standard,  The  Blunderer  fails  lamentably.  It  is,  however, 
an  unfair  example  of  Moliere's  craftsmanship.  Far  too 
involved  and  with  situations  too  exaggerated  for  true 
comedy,  the  marvellous  characterisation  which  so  dis- 
tinguishes his  later  work  is  almost  entirely  lacking. 
Later  in  life  he  tells  stories  of  human  interest  in  so 
concise  a  way  that  he  may  be  justly  called  the  first 
modern  play-writer,  but  not  until  after  his  genius  has 
risen  superior  to  Italian  zanyism. 

The  Blunderer,  it  should  be  remembered,  is  little  more 
than  a  French  adaptation  of  an  Italian  farce  filched  from 
classic  sources.  Mascarille  is  a  paraphrase  of  Pseudolus, 
the  knavish  slave  of  Plautus,  and  the  play  itself  merely  a 
new  rendering  of  an  old  plot  which,  shorn  of  Alexandrine 
verse,  remains  farce  pure  and  simple.  Instead  of  pre- 
senting it  as  an  original  piece  of  work,  Moliere  gave  it 
an  Italian  hall-mark  ;  but  he  was  then  unready  to  exclaim, 
as  he  did  at  a  later  day,  "  Let  us  cease  to  be  Italian,  let 
us  disdain  being  Spanish,  let  us  be  French." 

Far  from  being  a  natural  type,  knavish  Mascarille  is 
merely  the  vehicle  for  an  intricate  plot ;  but  on  the  other 
hand  artless  Lelie,  the  blunderer,  rings  true.  His  very 


EARLY   DRAMATIC   EFFORTS          63 

folly  is  genuine,  and,  being  a  lovable  personality  who 
falls  a  victim  to  his  own  frankness,  he  may  be  said  to 
foreshadow  Moliere's  powers  of  characterisation.  His 
passion  for  Clelie,  too,  is  a  commendable  sentiment ;  for 
even  when  strategy  forces  him  to  depreciate  her  qualities, 
he  exclaims  in  all  sincerity,  "  To  blame  where  I  adore  is 
to  wound  me  to  the  soul."  His  honest  incapacity  for 
deception  is  again  shown  when,  smuggled  into  Trufaldin's 
house  disguised  as  an  Armenian,  he  is  admonished  in  this 
manner  by  Mascarille  for  so  clearly  showing  his  love : 

What  tantalises  me  beyond  compare 

Is  seeing  you  so  far  forget  yourself. 

By  Clelie' s  side,  your  love  is  like  a  porridge 

Stewing  up  to  its  brim  beside  too  fierce 

A  fire,  then  boiling  over  everywhere, 

LELIE 

Could  I  coerce  myself  to  more  restraint  ? 
Thus  far  with  her  I  've  scarcely  had  a  word. 

MASCARILLE 

In  sooth;  yet  silence  is  not  all.     Your  conduct 
During  one  moment  of  the  feast  lent  more 
Of  substance  to  suspicion  than  the  rest 
Would  give  in  all  the  year. 

LELIE 

Pray  you,  explain. 

MASCARILLE 

Explain  what  all  have  seen  ?     Your  eyes  were  e'er 

Close  fixed  upon  the  table-seat  where  she 

Was  placed  by  Trufaldin.     To  everything 

Oblivous,  you  ogled,  blushed,  and  saw 

Not  what  they  served  ;  for  only  when  she  drank 

Did  dryness  parch  your  lips.     Her  glass  you  seized 


64  MOLlfeRE 

With  eagerness  from  out  her  hand,  you  stopped 
To  rinse  it  not,  drank  down  the  dregs,  lost  ne'er 
A  drop,  and  boldly  showed  your  preference 
For  spots  her  lips  had  pressed.     Yes,  every  bit 
She  touched  with  her  fair  hand  or  chose  to  put 
To  her  white  teeth,  you  laid  your  paw  upon 
Far  quicker  than  a  cat  upon  a  mouse  — 
To  gobble  it  as  if  it  were  pease-pudding. 

From  the  literary  point  of  view,  such  touches  of  genu- 
ine sentiment,  told  with  true  poetical  feeling,  entitle  The 
Blunderer  to  the  name  of  comedy  it  has  always  borne. 
In  spite  of  seemingly  inexhaustible  intrigue,  it  is  still 
above  mere  Italian  farce;  for  its  verse,  although  not 
masterful,  is  delightful  in  expression  and  literary  in 
quality.  Judged  as  the  first  attempt  of  a  dramatic 
hack  to  rise  above  the  vulgarity  of  one-act  canevas,  it 
is  indeed  a  marvellous  performance.  When  first  pre- 
sented, it  carried  fastidious  Lyons  by  storm  and  raisedl  y 
this  strolling  play-wright  to  the  rank  of  dramatic  poet. 
Even  now  one  cannot  read  its  sprightly  story  without 
realising  that  a  new  king  was  crowned  that  day. 


COMEDIANS   OF   PRINCE   OF   CONTI     65 


V 

THE  COMEDIANS  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  CONTI 

No  longer  a  disheartened  youth  fleeing  from  his  creditors, 
the  Moliere  that  left  Lyons  during  the  summer  of  1653 
was  a  fairly  successful  man  of  thirty-one.  The  tempestu- 
ous days  of  his  youth  were  over;  his  love  for  Madeleine 
Bejart  had  reached  the  comfortable  stage  of  companion- 
ship ;  the  occasional  flurries  which  disturbed  his  calm, 
such  as  his  fancies  for  Miles,  du  Pare  and  de  Brie, 
were  nothing  more  than  passing  zephyrs.  The  storm  of 
passion  which  was  to  embitter  later  years  had  shown  no 
signs  of  gathering.  The  man  was  a  vagabond,  it  is  true, 
but  a  prosperous  vagabond  with  a  following  in  the  cities 
of  the  South,  and  friends  to  welcome  him.  Capricious 
Paris  was  still  unwon,  but  his  unconquered  fields  were 
merely  those  of  ambition. 

While  he  was  winning  his  first  laurel  crown  on  the 
Lyons  stage,  Moliere's  former  schoolmate,  Armand  de 
Bourbon,  Prince  de  Conti  and  generalissimo  of  the  opera 
boufFe  army  of  the  Fronde,  had  been  making  peace  with 
Mazarin.  The  wily  cardinal,  thinking  a  friend  in  hand 
better  than  an  enemy  at  large,  granted  the  rebellious 
prince  complete  amnesty  with  a  view  to  offering  him  his 
niece,  Anna  Martinozzi,  in  marriage  and,  with  her,  the 
governorship  of  a  province,  when  the  young  man's  tem- 
per should  have  cooled  sufficiently.  Conti  spent  his 
period  of  probation  at  the  chateau  of  La  Grange  des  Pres 


66  MOLlfiRE 

in  Languedoc  in  company  with  Mme.  de  Calvimont, 
his  mistress,  who,  like  most  frivolous  ladies,  found  that 
country  life  paled  before  the  gaieties  of  Paris.  The  mild 
diversions  of  Languedoc  being  soon  exhausted,  she  pro- 
posed to  send  for  some  comedians,  —  a  caprice  not  to 
be  doubted,  since  the  story  is  told  at  first  hand  in  the 
memoirs  of  the  Abbe  Daniel  de  Cosnac. 

Having  the  disbursement  of  the  prince's  fund  for 
amusement,  this  prelate  decided  to  gratify  the  lady's 
whim  by  engaging  Moliere's  troupe,  then  in  Languedoc, 
for  some  performances.  Another  company,  managed  by 
an  actor  named  Cormier,  had  arrived  in  the  neighbouring 
city  of  Pezenas  meanwhile,  and,  royal  mistresses  being 
nothing  if  not  fickle,  Mme.  de  Calvimont  declared  she 
could  wait  no  longer  for  her  diversion.1  To  humour 
her  the  prince  summoned  this  rival  organisation  to  his 
chateau,  and  the  upshot  was  that  when  Moliere  arrived 
he  found  Cormier  in  possession.  He  demanded  full 
payment  for  his  services,  but  this  Conti  refused.  The 
abbe,  having  pledged  his  word,  was  on  the  point  of  pre- 
senting the  disgruntled  actor  with  a  thousand  'ecus  of  his 
own  money,  when  the  prince  was  persuaded  by  his  secre- 
tary, the  poet  Sarrasin,  to  command  a  performance  at  La 
Grange  des  Pres.  Moliere's  company  did  not  please 
Mme.  de  Calvimont,  and  was  consequently  out  of  fa- 
vour with  her  royal  lover;  but  the  audience  found  it 
superior  to  the  rival  troupe,  both  in  acting  and  mise  en 
scene.  After  a  second  performance  the  praise  was  so 
universal  that  the  prince  was  forced  to  banish  Cormier. 

1  Because  of  the  readiness  with  which  she  accepted  presents,  Sainte- 
Beuve  calls  Mme.  de  Calvimont  la  femme  a  cadeauxt — a  name  well 
merited,  since  the  Abbe  de  Cosnac  assures  us  that  Cormier  rewarded  her 
liberally  for  the  privilege  of  playing  at  La  Grange  des  Pres. 


COMEDIANS   OF  PRINCE   OF   CONTI     67 

The  chasm  between  royalty  and  vagabondism  being  too 
great  for  any  boyhood  friendship  to  bridge,  youthful  ties 
played  small  part  in  the  bestowal  of  Conti's  patronage. 
On  the  contrary,  Moliere's  success  seems  to  have  been 
due  to  the  charm  of  one  of  his  actresses ;  for  the  Abbe 
de  Cosnac  in  his  guileless  way  observes  that  "  the  prince's 
secretary  supported  Moliere's  company  in  the  first  in- 
stance at  his  instigation,  but  after  falling  a  victim  to 
the  charms  of  Mile,  du  Pare,  he  became  its  champion 
for  her  sake," 

In  telling  the  story  of  "The  Illustrious  Theatre" 
Grimarest  says  that  "  the  Prince  de  Conti  invited  Moliere 
to  his  Parisian  hotel  on  several  occasions  and  encouraged 
him  " ;  but  Armand  de  Bourbon  was  not  likely  to  have 
been  a  patron  of  the  drama  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  and  his 
reception  to  Moliere  at  La  Grange  des  Pres  was  not  of 
the  nature  one  would  expect  from  a  former  protector  and 
schoolmate.  There  is  a  possibility,  of  course,  that  Moliere 
appeared  at  the  Hotel  de  Conti  in  1651,  when  in  Paris  to 
transact  business  in  connection  with  his  mother's  estate ; 
but  it  is  far  more  likely  that  his  first  professional  appear- 
ance before  the  Prince  de  Conti  was  the  one  at  La  Grange 
des  Pres  just  recounted  (September,  1653),  —  an  event  so 
momentous  that  for  three  years  thereafter  his  company)  I 
was  known  as  "  The  Comedians  of  the  Prince  de  Conti." 

In  order  to  indulge  in  a  final  debauch  before  going  to 
Paris  for  his  wedding,  Conti,  shortly  after  Moliere's  debut 
at  La  Grange  des  Pres,  set  out  for  Montpellier  to  visit  the 
Comte  d'Aubijoux,  the  governor.  There  he  dismissed 
Mme.  de  Calvimont  with  a  niggardly  gift  of  six  hun- 
dred pistoles,1  and  installed  in  her  place  a  certain  Mile. 

L  The  prince's  original  gift  was  six  hundred  pistoles,  but  the  Abbe 
de  Cosnac,  charged  with  the  dismissal  of  Mme.  de  Calvimont,  increased 


68  MOLIERE 

Rochelle.  His  stinginess  was  notorious,  but  with  the 
public  funds  he  was  not  so  chary.  After  he  had  married 
Mazarin's  niece  and  been  named  Governor  of  Guyenne 
(February  twenty-second,  1654),  Moliere's  troupe  was 
summoned  to  the  States  (Les  Etats)  held  at  Montpellier 
during  the  winter  of  1654-55,  and  was  so  well  reimbursed 
from  the  parliamentary  exchequer  that,  on  February 
eighteenth,  1655,  Antoine  Baralier,  tax-gatherer  at  Mon- 
telimart,  acknowledged  an  indebtedness  to  Madeleine 
Bejart  (probably  acting  as  the  troupe's  treasurer)  of 
thirty-two  hundred  livres.  By  April  first  the  profits  of 
the  organisation  had  so  augmented  that  La  Bejart  was 
able  to  lend  the  province  of  Languedoc  the  sum  of  ten 
thousand  livres,  while,  at  a  session  of  the  States  held  at 
Pezenas  in  the  winter  of  1655-56,  the  authorities  paid  the 
company  the  sum  of  six  thousand  livres  for  its  services.1 
The  years  of  discouragement  were  ended.  Hence- 
forth there  is  no  distress  to  chronicle,  unless  it  be  a 
collection  said  to  have  been  made  among  the  inhabitants 
of  Marseillan  for  "  the  relief  of  these  comedians  whom 
insufficient  receipts  had  placed  in  need,"  or  a  dispute  with 
the  magistrates  of  Vienne  over  the  right  to  play  in  their 
city.  Moliere,  the  manager  of  a  successful  company, 

this  sum  to  a  thousand  —  the  only  present,  save  a  diamond,  which  the  lady 
ever  received  from  her  miserly  protector ;  making  her  habit  of  receiving 
gifts  from  others  seem  less  unpardonable. 

1  The  hv re,  originally  of  the  value  of  a  pound  of  silver  (the  /<?/,  or  sou, 
being  a  twentieth  part  thereof) ,  is  the  modern  franc.  Its  weight  and 
value  have  varied  considerably  during  the  centuries.  In  Moliere's  day 
the  livre  tournois  of  twenty  sols,  or  sous  (there  being  also  a  livre  parisis 
of  twenty-five  sous),  had  a  purchasing  power  about  equivalent  to  that  of 
the  American  dollar  of  to-day.  The  pistole^  according  to  M.  E.  Littre 
( Dictionnatre  de  la  Langue  Fran$aisi) ,  was  worth  ten  hv  res  tournois  ; 
the  ecu,  three  livres. 


COMEDIANS   OF   PRINCE   OF   CONTI     69 

now   playing    a    season    in    Lyons,    now   returning   to  f 
Languedoc  at  the  summons  of  a  prince,  was  likewise  a  I 
dramatic   poet   of  considerable   local    reputation.      His  1 
treasury  was  comfortably  filled ;  but  he  was  a  vagabond 
in  the  eyes  of  society  and  the  law,  nevertheless. 

Nicolas  Chorier,  in  his  Life  of  Pierre  de  Boissat  yl  pre- 
sents Moliere's  social  standing  in  an  unmistakable  way. 
Boissat,  a  member  of  the  Academy,  who  had  been  a 
loose  living  author  of  erotic  novels  in  his  youth,  had 
settled  down  at  Vienne,  a  suburb  of  Lyons,  to  pass  the 
remainder  of  his  days  in  the  contrite  scribbling  of  moral 
treatises.     The  actor's  senior  by  some  twenty  years,  he 
was  none  the  less  his  friend ;  and,  according  to  Chorier, 
did    not   go   about   speaking  ill  of  him,  "  like  certain 
people  who  affected  a  foolish  and  haughty  austerity  of 
manner  toward  Moliere,"  but  insisted  that  "  a  man  so 
distinguished  in  his  art  should  have  a  place  at  his  table." 
Moreover,  when  the  actor  visited  Vienne,  Boissat  gave 
him  excellent  suppers,  and  "  did  not,  like  some  fanatics, 
place  him  in  the  ranks  of c  impious  rascals/  although  he 
was  excommunicated."     A  writer  himself,  this   acade- 
mician viewed  Moliere  in  a  liberal  light,  but  the  attitude 
of  the  Church  towards  the  stage  was  so  rancorous  that  to 
the  community  at  large  a  strolling  player,  such  as  he, 
was   an   excommunicated   reprobate.     Professionally  he 
might  visit  the  chateau  of  a  prince,  or  draw  a  pension 
from  the  treasury  of  a  province,  but  his  place  was  still 
among  the  outcasts. 

Boissat,  however,  was  not  the  only  man  of  intelli- 
gence to  recognise  Moliere's  merit  during  those  years  of" 
wandering.     There  is  a  tradition  that  when  he  first  took 
to  the  road,  he  knew  the  poet  Goudouli,  and  used  to 

1  De  Petri  Boessatii  .   .   .   vita  amicisque  litter  atis. 


70  MOLIERE 

visit  him  at  Toulouse ;  but  a  more  incontestable  friend- 
ship was  that  with  two  artist  brothers  named  Mignard. 
Nicolas,  the  elder,  a  painter,  architect,  and  engraver  of 
Avignon,  persuaded  him  to  give  some  performances  in 
the  papal  city  ;  while  Pierre,  his  more  celebrated  younger 
brother,  painted  his  portrait  as  Caesar  in  Corneille's 
Pompey. 

Pierre  Mignard  had  been  destined  by  his  father  for 
the  medical  profession,  but  his  love  of  art  had  been  too 
strong  to  overcome  —  a  story  not  unlike  that  of  Moliere's 
own  experience  with  the  law  and  the  stage  —  and  possibly 
this  resemblance  in  their  early  lives  proved  the  bond  of 
sympathy  which  made  their  friendship  lasting. 

At  Carcassonne,  in  1651  or  1652,  Moliere  met 
Charles  Coypeau  d'Assoucy,  a  scapegrace  poet,  who  sang 
his  own  verses  to  a  tinkling  lute;  and  in  1655  they 
passed  three  months  together  at  Lyons.  D'Assoucy 
had  been  one  of  the  bohemian  set  in  Moliere's  youth, 
of  which  Chapelle  and  Bachaumont  were  shining  lights; 
being  in  a  state  of  abject  poverty  through  a  passion  for 
gaming,  Moliere  took  pity  on  him,  and  invited  him  to 
be  his  guest  during  a  trip  to  Avignon. 

Known  as  Scarron's  monkey,  and  styled  by  himself 
the  "  Emperor  of  Burlesque,"  this  profligate  travelled 
through  France  and  Italy  attended  by  two  fantastic 
pages  whose  sex  was  a  matter  of  dispute ;  but  he  had 
sufficient  manliness  to  say  in  his  autobiography l  that 
"  what  pleased  him  most  at  Lyons  was  meeting  Moliere 
and  the  Bejart  brothers."  "  As  comedy  has  its  charms," 
he  continues,  "  I  could  not  leave  such  delightful  friends, 
so  I  remained  three  months  at  Lyons  amid  the  dice-cups, 
comedians,  and  feasts,  although  I  should  have  done  far 

1  Les  Aventures  de  Monsieur  <T  Assouey. 


COMEDIANS   OF   PRINCE   OF   CONTI     71 

better  not  to  have  remained  a  single  day."  This  appar- 
ent ingratitude  was  inspired  by  a  realisation  of  his  beset- 
ting sin ;  for  when  he  and  Moliere  drifted  down  the 
Rhone  to  Avignon,  the  wretch  lost  his  last  tcu,  his  ring, 
and  his  cloak  at  the  dice-cups,  yet  paid  the  following 
tribute  to  the  actor's  generosity  and  friendship : 

As  a  man  is  never  poor  so  long  as  he  has  friends,  so 
I,  having  the  esteem  of  Moliere  and  the  friendship  of  all 
the  Bejart  family,  found  myself  richer  and  more  content 
than  ever.  These  generous  people  were  not  satisfied 
with  assisting  me  as  a  friend,  but  wished  to  treat  me  as 
one  of  the  family.  Being  summoned  to  the  States,  they 
took  me  with  them  to  Pezenas,  and  words  fail  to  tell  of 
all  the  favours  I  received  from  the  entire  household.  It 
is  said  that  the  best  of  brothers  is  tired  at  the  end  of 
one  month  of  feeding  his  brother;  but  these  people, 
more  generous  than  all  the  brothers  one  could  have, 
never  tired  through  all  one  winter  of  seeing  me  at  their 
table. 

That  table  was  well  furnished,  for  Moliere  lived  on 
the  fat  of  the  land  during  those  Languedocian  days. 
When  at  Narbonne,  he  was  always  a  guest  at  the  Three 
Nurses  Hotel ;  and  he  grew  so  fond  of  the  succulent 
fish  and  waterfowl  of  Meze  that  the  hostelry  there, 
known  as  the  Holy  Spirit,  obtained  the  sobriquet  of 
"  The  Actors'  Inn."  "  Never  was  a  beggar  thus  fat- 
tened !  "  cries  D'Assoucy,  —  an  exclamation  which  causes 
Karl  Mantzius1  to  draw  this  charming  picture  of  Mo- 
Here's  well-filled  board  and  its  familiars: 

His  [D'Assoucy's]  words  conjure  up  before  our  eyes 
the  picture  of  Madeleine  Bejart,  strong  and  well  built, 

1  Moliere  and  his  Times :  The  Theatre  in  France  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century,  Vol.  IV,  History  of  Theatrical  Art. 


72  MOLIERE 

with  her  bright,  intelligent  face,  presiding  over  the 
sumptuous  table,  where  seven  or  eight  courses  were  the 
usual  fare;  Moliere, —  with  his  large  brown  eyes  under 
dark,  bushy  brows,  and  a  humorous  smile  about  his  full, 
sensitive  mouth,  —  watching  the  greedy,  loquacious  poet 
of  the  highroads,  who  is  having  an  argument  with  the 
sharp  tongued  Louis  Bejart,  while  the  quiet  elder  brother 
sits  by  and  enjoys  himself  in  silence.  But  after  the 
meal  musical  instruments  are  brought  out,  the  sparkling 
ruby-coloured  muscat  is  placed  on  the  table,  and  merry 
songs  and  stories  go  on,  till  Madeleine's  authoritative 
voice  gives  the  signal  to  break  up,  and  every  one  goes 
about  his  business.  Moliere  retires  to  work  at  a  new 
five-act  play  in  verse,  Joseph  Bejart  puts  the  last  touch 
to  his  work  on  heraldry,1  Madeleine  goes  to  her  accounts, 
while  D'Assoucy  makes  an  effort  to  tear  himself  away 
from  the  sweet  muscat  wine. 

Chapelle  and  Bachaumont  went  South  during  the 
autumn  of  1656;  and  if  Moliere  met  them  journeying 
through  Languedoc,  as  the  story  goes,2  the  sight  of  these 
comrades  of  his  youth  must  have  made  him  long  for 
the  joys  of  Paris ;  yet  his  friendships  were  not  confined 
to  poets,  artists,  and  gay  sprigs  from  the  capital.  One 
at  least  was  of  a  more  commercial  nature. 

In  the  town  of  Sigean,  not  far  from  Narbonne,  lived 
Martin-Melchoir  Dufort,  a  burgher,  with  whom  Moliere 

1  Rccueil  des  titres,  qualites,  blazons  et  armes  des  Seigneurs  Barons  des 
Estats  Generaux  de  la  Province  de  Languedoc  tenus  a  Pezenas,  1654. 

2  M.   Mesnard   {Notice  biograpbique  sur  Moliere)  does  not  believe 
that  Chapelle  met  Moliere  during  this  trip.     In    substantiation  of  this 
contention  he  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  Chapelle  in  his  account  of 
this  journey   (foyage  de  Cbapelle,   Saint-Marc  edition,    1755)  describes 
a  comedy  he  saw  played  at  a  country  house  near  Carcassonne,   which 
"was  not  bad/'  but  makes  no  mention  of  Moliere,  —  a  strange  omission, 
had  he  met  his  old  schoolmate  at  this  time. 


COMEDIANS   OF   PRINCE   OF   CONTI     73 

is  reputed  to  have  lodged  when  he  travelled  in  the 
service  of  his  King.  This  journey  itself  being  a  matter 
of  doubt,  the  story  that  Dufort  came  to  Moliere's  aid  at 
a  later  day  may  be  accepted  with  reservations,  especially 
as  there  are  two  ways  of  telling  it.  The  popular  version 
is  that,  instead  of  being  paid  for  his  services  during  the 
States  held  at  Montpellier  in  1654-55,  the  actor  received 
a  promissory  note  drawn  upon  the  military  fund  of  the 
province  (fonds  des  etapes)  for  five  thousand  livres. 
Though  a  considerable  sum,  this  was  not  ready  money, 
but  Dufort  played  the  friend  in  need  by  discounting  the 
royal  paper  with  twelve  hundred  and  fifty  livres  cash  and 
a  bill  of  exchange  for  the  remainder. 

M.  Loiseleur,1  on  the  other  hand,  insists  that,  a 
draft  being  drawn  by  one  Cassaignes  (joint  trustee  with 
Moliere's  friend  of  the  military  fund)  on  Dufort  himself, 
this  bill  of  exchange  was  merely  an  official  connivance 
between  Conti,  the  two  trustees,  and  the  treasurer  of  the 
province  to  cover  the  irregularity  of  paying  comedians 
from  the  public  treasury ;  yet  even  this  author  admits 
that  "the  affair  is  most  obscure." 

Of  far  more  interest  than  this  equivocal  transaction, 
are    the   difficulties   Moliere's    actors    met  in    travelling! 
during  those  happy-go-lucky  days.     When  in  the  royal 
service,  they  journeyed  luxuriously  at  the  public  expense  \ 
in  carriages  requisitioned  by  the  Prince  de  Conti,  and  \ 
were    even    escorted    by  gendarmes;    but    the    official 
countenance  once  removed,  they  were  often  reduced  to 
a    horse  for  each   two  actresses   or  three  actors  of  the 
company.       Even    when    the  means    of   transport   was 
a  waggon  and  temporary  opulence  permitted  an  exchange 

1  Les  Points  obscurs  de  la  vie  de  Moliere.  See  also  Le  Molieriste, 
August,  1885,  article  by  Auguste  Baluffe. 


74  MOLIERE 

from  oxen  to  horses,  the  difficulty  of  locomotion  seems 
to  have  been  only  enhanced ;  for  among  the  more  or  less 
truthful  anecdotes  gathered  by  M.  Galibert  (Emmanuel 
Raymond)  for  his  delightful  story  of  Moliere's  wander- 
ings in  Languedoc1  is  one  to  the  effect  that  while  the 
troupe  was  travelling  from  Pezenas  to  Beziers,  the  cart 
came  to  a  sudden  halt  and  the  driver  announced  that 
it  was  impossible  to  go  farther.  When  the  comedians 
protested  that  they  were  only  half-way,  the  jehu  replied 
that  a  rush  of  blood  had  paralysed  the  right  eye  of  his 
colt,  a  young  gelding  thirty  years  old. 

"  And  for  that  you  mean  to  stop  ? "  continued  the 
actors.  "  Your  other  two  horses  will  lead  the  colt." 

"  Impossible !  My  other  two  horses  are  both  blind, 
and  the  colt  which  used  to  lead  them  was  blind  in  one  eye 
before  the  accident."  After  this  revelation  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  take  foot  to  the  journey's  end. 

To  trace  the  route  the  company  followed  in  that 
summer  land  is  hardly  necessary,  even  were  it  always 
possible.  When  not  attending  upon  the  States  of  Lan- 
guedoc at  Pezenas,  Beziers,  or  Montpellier,  or  playing 
at  La  Grange  des  Pres,  they  were  travelling  back  and 
forth  among  the  neighbouring  towns  of  Meze,  Lunel, 
Gignac,2  Marseillan,  Agde,  Nissan,  or  Montagnac.  They 
usually  went  to  Lyons  once  a  year,  and  made  excursions 
up  and  down  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  or  eastward  to 

1   Histoire  des  peregrinations  de  Mo  here  dans  le  Languedoc. 

3  Among  the  legends  told  by  M.  Galibert  is  one  to  this  effect  :  The 
town  council  having  inscribed  upon  a  public  fountain  of  Gignac,  Qu<z 
fuit  ante  fugax,  arte  perennis  erit,  some  admiring  citizens  of  the  place 
asked  Moliere  one  day  the  meaning  of  the  words.  He  gave  as  his 
translation : 

Thou  eager  looker-on,  who  Mst  know  it  all, 
Here  Gignac  asses  for  their  water  call. 


COMEDIANS   OF   PRINCE   OF   CONTI     75 

Toulouse  and  Carcassonne,  sometimes  by  waggon,  some- 
times in  the  saddle. 

On  the  horseback  journeys  Moliere,  as  manager  of  the 
company,  had  a  nag  to  himself;  and  M.  Galibert  tells 
another  humorous  legend  about  his  saddle-bag  contain- 
ing the  tragedy  regalia,  which  the  rustics  often  mistook 
for  jewels.  One  morning,  too  absorbed  in  day-dreaming 
to  note  his  property  slipping  from  his  horse's  crupper, 
the  actor  rode  on,  while  two  peasant  girls  made  quick  to 
seize  such  untold  wealth.  Moliere  discovered  his  loss, 
however,  before  they  had  made  off  with  their  booty  ;  but 
one  of  these  imps,  quick-witted  enough  to  cover  the  bag 
with  her  petticoats  until  his  back  was  turned,  sent  it 
tumbling  into  the  ditch  with  a  dexterous  kick,  and  ran 
to  direct  the  fictitious  search,  while  her  comrade  secured 
the  plunder. 

In  telling  this  story  Moliere  asked  laughingly  how  it 
could  have  turned  out  otherwise  "  when  from  Gignac  you 
go  through  Brignac  only  to  turn  your  steps  toward 
Montagnac,  while  passing  Lavagnac,  and  in  the  midst 
of  these  gnic  and  these  gnac,  you  hear  without  motive  and 
without  cessation,  Agaro  Moussu  !  Ah!  boutats  Moussu! 
Aou  sabetz  pas  Moussu!  Pecalrt  Moussu!  until  your 
ears,  eyes,  and  wits  become  so  confused  by  these  weird 
sounds,  accompanied  by  still  stranger  gestures,  that  you 
end  by  losing  what  was  only  mislaid."  In  the  course  of 
time,  however,  he  became  proficient  in  the  soft  language 
of  the  South,  and  used  it  intelligently  in  Monsieur  de 
Pourceaugnac. 

Mediaeval  Pezenas  was  Moliere' s  headquarters  in  Lan- 
guedoc,  his  favourite  resort  the  barber  shop  of  Maitre 
Gely.  Seated  in  an  armchair,  known  to  this  day  as 
le  fauteuil  de  Moliere,  he  delighted  to  gossip  with  this 


76  MOLlfiRE 

Figaro's  customers  or  improvise  little  comedies  for  his 
own  delectation. 

One  day  a  patron  mistook  him  for  the  barber ;  ever 
ready  to  try  his  hand  at  a  new  role,  Moliere  smeared  the 
fellow's  face  with  lather.  Too  merciful  to  cut  an  inno- 
cent throat,  he  confined  his  tonsorial  efforts  to  hair  rais- 
ing stories  about  supposed  robberies,  fires,  murders,  and 
sudden  deaths,  until  the  victim,  overcome  with  horror, 
ran  headlong  from  the  shop,  leaving  a  cravat  as  evidence 
of  the  actor's  success  on  the  garrulous  side  of  barbering. 

On  another  occasion  a  country  lass  came  to  the  shop 
with  a  letter  from  her  wounded  betrothed  at  the  wars  for 
Gely  to  read  ;  but  he,  being  busy,  directed  her  to  Moliere 
with  the  remark  that  "  there  is  a  gentleman  who  reads 
far  better  than  I  ! "  Contents  were  improvised  to  suit 
the  actor's  fancy.  To  counteract  the  story  that  the 
maiden's  lover  had  distinguished  himself  for  bravery, 
but  had  lost  an  arm,  he  was  obliged  to  invent  a  triumph 
of  surgical  skill  whereby  the  wounded  soldier  recovered 
both  his  arm  and  his  spirits.  Upon  learning  that  this 
miraculous  cure  had  caused  such  a  commotion  in  the 
neighbourhood  that  a  rich  lady  insisted  upon  marrying  her 
hero,  the  poor  girl  might  have  ended  her  life  with  one  of 
Gely's  razors,  had  Moliere  not  told  her,  as  a  final  ano- 
dyne, that  her  lover  was  true  despite  every  allurement. 
All  might  have  gone  well,  had  not  the  letter  been  shown 
to  some  one  who  could  read  without  embroidering.  Even 
then  the  girl  refused  to  believe  the  truth  and  exclaimed, 
in  tribute  to  Moliere's  skill  in  romancing,  "  There  is  a 
gentleman  at  Gely's  who  knows  how  to  read  far  better !  " 

1  These  various  legends  are  taken  as  stated  from  M.  Galibert's 
Histoire  des  peregrinations  de  Moliere  dans  le  Langtiedoc.  The  author, 
who  wrote  under  the  nom  de  plume  of  Emmanuel  Raymond,  heard  them 


Moliere  in  the  role  of  barber 


[COMEDIANS   OF   PRINCE   OF   CONTI     77 

Barber  shops  were  the  news  centres  in  those  days,  the 
gathering  places  for  gossips.  Moliere,  sitting  in  his  arm- 
chair by  Gely's  window,  noted  many  absurdities  among 
the  patrons  waiting  their  turn  at  the  brass  basin  for 
future  use;  but  the  States  of  Languedoc  were  quite  as 
rich  a  mine  for  character  and  local  colour. 

In  the  monarchical  machine  which  dexterous  Richelieu 
had  built  from  a  feudal  scrap-heap  and  crafty  Mazarin 
was  oiling  to  perfection,  the  States  (Les  Etats),  or  provin- 
cial parliaments,  were  political  fly-wheels  designed  to  go 
round  and  round  to  aid  in  preserving  without  disturbing 
the  balance.  Their  functions  being  more  imaginary  than 
real,  their  sessions  became  the  rendezvous  for  provincial 
society;  hence  Moliere,  official  entertainer  to  the  States 
of  Languedoc,  was  brought  in  contact  with  the  country 
imitators  of  Parisian  ways.  During  a  session  at  Mont- 
pellier  in  1655,  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  province, 
assisted  by  professionals,  presented  a  phantasy  called 
The  Ballet  of  the  Incompatible*  before  the  newly  wed 
Princesse  de  Conti.  Moliere  appeared  both  as  a  poet 
and  a  scolding  fishwife ;  and  to  avoid  discussing  his  pos- 
sible authorship  of  this  mediocre  ballet  —  a  veritable 
literary  deformity  after  The  Blunderer,  were  such  the 

told  in  his  youth  by  J.  F.  Cailhava  d'Estandoux,  a  Langucdocian  drama- 
tist who  died  in  1813  at  the  age  of  eighty-two.  Throughout  his  life 
Cailhava  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  Moliere  ;  yet  he  cannot  be  explicitly 
trusted  in  the  matter  of  accuracy.  In  his  youth  he  made  a  trip  through 
Languedoc  collecting  stories  of  Moliere  from  the  natives,  and  it  was  his 
intention  to  publish  a  volume  of  Souvenirs  de  Languedoc.  It  is  presumed 
that  he  wrote  portions  of  this  book,  but  the  manuscript  has  never  been 
discovered.  M.  Galibert  writes  the  legends  from  memory,  and,  although 
not  authenticated,  they  are  repeated  because  of  their  interest.  Some  of 
them  are  told  as  well  by  M.  Jules  Taschereau  in  his  Histoire  de  la  vie  et 
des  outrages  de  Moliere. 


78  MOLIERE 

case  —  it  is  sufficient  to  point  out  that,  having  met  the 
high  society  of  Languedoc  at  such  close  range,  he  made 
trenchant  use  of  country  ladies  who  imitate  Parisian  ways 
some  four  years  later  in  Les  Precieuses  ridicules. 

Playing  thus  at  a  provincial  court,  touring  a  province, 
supping  with  his  literary  friends,  studying  human  nature 
in  Gely's  shop,  Moliere  spent  three  happy  years  in 
Languedoc  in  constant  contact  with  the  witchery  of  sex ; 
yet  notwithstanding  a  host  of  slanderers  to  vilify  him,  the 
only  women  —  besides  Madeleine  Bejart  and  his  wife  — 
whose  names  have  been  linked  with  his  are  those  of  Miles. 
du  Pare  and  de  Brie.1  Although  a  strolling  player  in  a 
wanton  age,  Moliere,  judged  by  his  contemporaries  of 
exalted  rank,  instead  of  being  classed  among  the  liber- 
tines, should  take  his  place  among  the  more  faithful 
lovers  of  his  day. 

Necessity  was  ever  his  best  taskmaster,  so  The  Love 
Tiff  (Le  Depit  amoureux)  is  the  only  play  to  chronicle 
for  this  period  of  contentment.  This  five-act  comedy  in 
verse,  wherein  Moliere  follows  the  Italian  vein  of  The 
Blunderer,  contains  two  plots  so  distinct  that  each  may 
be  presented  separately.  One,  an  adaptation  of  Nicolo 
Secchi's  Cupidity  (L'lnteresse),  concerns  the  fortunes  of 
Ascagne,  a  young  girl,  disguised  as  a  boy  in  order  that  she 
may  inherit  a  fortune  left  by  an  uncle  to  a  male  heir ;  the 
other  presents  the  quarrels  of  two  pairs  of  lovers,  Eraste 
and  his  valet  Gros-Rene,  Lucile  and  her  maid  Marinette. 
Mascarille  again  appears,  but  less  prominently  than  in 
The  Blunderer ;  and  judged  as  a  whole  The  Love  Tiff  is 
inferior  to  its  predecessor. 

1  M.  Galibert  calls  attention  to  a  legend  regarding  an  intrigue  between 
Moliere  and  the  Chatelaine  de  Lavagnac,  but  its  fabric  of  truth  is  too 
slight  to  merit  serious  consideration. 


COMEDIANS   OF  PRINCE   OF   CONTI     79 

Although  the  longer  and  more  completely  Italian  in 
treatment  and  origin,  the  first  of  these  two  distinct  plots 
is  by  far  the  less  interesting.  Nicolb  Secchi's  vulgarity, 
much  to  Moliere's  credit,  has  been  so  toned  down  that, 
compared  with  the  original,  this  story  of  a  girl  in  man's 
attire  becomes  a  gem  of  refinement ;  but  the  play's  chief 
interest  lies  in  the  poet's  treatment  of  the  other  plot 
which  gives  it  name.  He  has  been  accused  of  having 
taken  his  story  of  a  lover's  quarrels  from  both  Italian 
and  Spanish  sources,  but  he  is  no  ordinary  pirate.  His 
lovers  are  painted  with  a  fine  Gallic  touch,  and  he  tells 
the  story  of  their  passion  with  such  truth  and  gaiety  that 
The  Love  Tiffl  although  sadly  lacking  in  clearness,  is 
perhaps  the  only  French  play  founded  on  an  Italian 
imbroglio  which  retains  its  freshness  and  youth.  Italian 
tradition  is  partially  discarded,  and  the  master  of  French 
comedy  revealed  for  the  first  time.  For  this  reason 
The  Love  Tiff  is  a  landmark  in  the  development  of 
Moliere's  genius. 

It  was  produced  at  Beziers  during  the  session  of  the 
States  in  1656,  and  marks  a  change  in  Moliere's  fortunes 
as  well  as  in  his  craftsmanship.  Grimarest  tells  a  some- 
what apocryphal  story  to  the  effect  that  when  the  poet 
Sarrasin  died  in  December,  1654,  Moliere,  then  in  favour 
with  the  Prince  de  Conti,  was  offered  the  post  of  royal 
secretary,  which  he  declined  through  love  for  his  chosen 
calling.  Whatever  the  truth  of  this,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  Moliere  lost  his  patron's  favour  shortly  after  the  pro- 
duction__of  fhe  Love  Tiff,  —  an  event  for  which  neitEer 
the  play  nor  his^own^cdnduct  was  in  any  way  responsible. 

Armand  de  Bourbon  blew  hot  or  cold  according 
to  environment.  Opera  bouffe  hero  of  the  Fronde, 
tool  of  Mazarin,  and  profligate  protector  of  Mme.  de 


8o  MOLIERE 

Calvimont,  he  now  became  a  zealous  convert  of  the 
Jansenists,  —  the  Puritans  of  the  time.  This  change  of 
heart  was  compassed  by  the  Bishop  of  Aleth ;  and  when 
the  States  of  Languedoc  adjourned  on  February  twenty- 
second,  1656,  the  Prince  accepted  with  a  child's  docility 
the  rules  of  conduct  of  the  austere  order,  and  banished 
comedy,  dancing,  and  gaming  from  his  court.  So  great 
was  his  zeal  in  the  new  cause  that  he  wrote  from  Lyons  to 
the  Abbe  Ciron  in  the  spring  of  1657  to  say  that  "there 
are  comedians  here  who  formerly  bore  my  name.  I  have 
forbidden  them  to  use  it  longer,  and  you  may  be  sure  I 
have  taken  good  care  not  to  attend  their  performances." 

Once  more  without  a  patron,  Moliere  was  forced  to 
wander  for  two  years  through  a  country  he  had  often 
visited.  Narbonne,  Beziers,  Nimes,  Lyons,  Dijon,  and 
Avignon  are  places  where  some  trace  of  him  remains ; 
while  at  Grenoble,  early  in  1658,  he  is  supposed  to  have 
set  up  his  trestles  without  a  license,  being  consequently 
forced  to  remove  his  play-bills,  close  his  theatre,  and 
humbly  beg  permission  from  the  offended  authorities 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  present  his  comedies.  As  Conti 
retained  only  "  missionaries  and  policemen  "  in  his  suite, 
Languedoc  was  no  longer  a  desirable  circuit  for  a  com- 
pany of  players ;  so  Moliere  turned  his  steps  toward 
Normandy  in  the  spring  of  1658,  to  be  within  easy 
reach  of  Paris  and  the  court. 

The  company  he  brought  to  Rouen  in  that  month  of 
May  was  a  very  different  organisation  from  the  band 
of  unknown  amateurs  he  had  led  thither  fifteen  years 
before.  It  was  now  a  compact,  well  balanced,  and  ac- 
complished troupe  of  eleven  players  ;  which,  to  quote 
the  words  of  Segrais,  "  was  moulded  by  the  hand  of  the 
man  who  was  its  soul,  —  a  company  which  could  never 


COMEDIANS   OF    PRINCE   OF   CONTI     81 

> 
have  its  equal."     Besides  Moliere  and  the  Bejart  family, 

the  members  were  Du  Pare,  Dufresne,  De  Brie,  Croisac, 
—  this  last  a  gagiste,  or  hired  actor  having  no  share  in 
the  profits,  —  and  the  ladies  Catherine  de  Brie  and  Mar- 
quise du  Pare,  each  a  player  of  ability,  and  their  chief — 
a  master  of  stage  craft. 

Their  repertory  was  not  confined  to  the  plays  of  their 
manager.  Indeed  these  were  but  secondary  to  the 
tragedies  of  Rotrou  and  Corneille,  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  The  Blunderer  and  The  Love  I'iffl  were  merely 
used  as  afterpieces.  Moliere  was  not  yet  sufficiently 
self-confident  to  set  his  own  work  in  the  foremost  place. 
Even  as  an  actor  he  felt  his  limitations. 

Nature  had  refused  him  the  external  gifts  so  necessary 
on  the  stage,  above  all  for  tragic  parts.  He  had  a 
monotonous  voice,  hard  in  inflection,  and  he  spoke 
with  a  volubility  which  made  his  declamation  hurried. 
He  was  only  able  to  correct  himself  of  this  fault,  so 
contrary  to  good  articulation,  by  constant  effort,  through 
which  was  produced  a  sort  of  hiccough,  lasting  to  his 
death.  He  sometimes  took  advantage  of  this  fault  and 
used  it  to  give  a  certain  variety  to  his  inflection  ;  but 
it  caused  him  to  be  accused  of  an  affectation  which  in 
time  came  to  be  accepted  as  natural. 

This  passage  is  attributed  to  Mile.  Poisson,  a  woman 
whose  mother,  Mile,  du  Croisy,  entered  Moliere's  com- 
pany in  1659,  and  who  herself  played  a  part  in  one  or 
two  of  his  pieces  a  year  before  his  death.  It  was  not 
published  until  1740,  but  the  author,  both  from  obser- 
vation and  the  stories  doubtless  told  her  in  her  youth, 
was  in  a  position  to  appreciate  and  understand  the 
histrionic  difficulties  under  which  Moliere  laboured.1 

1  Lettre  sur  la  vie  et  les  outrages  de  Moliere  et  sur  les  com'ediens  de  son 
temps,  published  in  the  Mercure  de  France,  May,  1740.  The  author- 

6 


82  MOLIERE 

As  director  of  his  troupe,  he  possessed  the  cunning  of 
the  modern  manager.  Knowing  his  public,  he  gave  it 
pieces  suitable  to  its  taste,  and  only  in  rare  moments, 
when  he  dared  offer  the  general  a  morsel  of  caviare,  did 
he  write  to  please  his  own  fancy.  No  detail  was  too 
trivial  for  him  to  master,  and  as  poet  and  dramatist 
he  called  forth  an  amount  of  erudition  that  would  be 
astonishing  in  any  age.  Although  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  pluck  from  Menander,  Plautus,  Terence,  and  the 
dramatists  of  Italy  and  Spain,  or  even  to  cull  material 
from  Montaigne,  Brantome,  Noel  du  Fail,  and  Rabelais, 
as  well  as  from  the  story  tellers  of  his  own  time,  he  was 
nevertheless  a  student  and  a  deep  thinker,  —  an  artist, 
who  painted  real  men  and  women  in  the  vigorous  colours 
of  truth. 

Such  was  the  strolling  player  who,  after  an  experience 
of  fifteen  years  in  his  craft,  returned  to  Rouen,  the  scene 
of  his  first  essay  in  the  art  of  acting.  Feeling  the  time 
ripe  to  brave  the  criticism  of  the  capital,  he  spent  the 
summer  there  trying  to  obtain  a  hearing  at  the  court. 
He  had  made  friends  among  the  authorities  in  many 
places,  and  he  knew  Pierre  Mignard,  a  painter  then  in 
high  favour  with  Mazarin.  The  great  Corneille  lived  at 
Rouen,  too,  and  his  first  play  had  been  produced  by 
just  such  a  travelling  troupe ;  so  he  may  have  had  a 
fellow  feeling  for  Moliere,  the  more  so  because  in  this 
actor's  repertory  were  many  of  Corneille's  own  tragedies. 
But  there  is  a  more  human  reason  for  his  interest  in  this 
strolling  company.  The  Italian  beauty,  Marquise  Therese 
du  Pare,  so  bewitched  the  great  man  with  her  irresistible 

ship  of  this  article,  although  attributed  to  Mile.  Poisson  (nee  Du  Croisy), 
is  far  from  being  authenticated.  See  Lettres  au  Mercure  sur  Moliere 
(Nouvelle  collection  molieresque)  by  M.  Georges  Monval. 


COMEDIANS  OF   PRINCE   OF   CONTI     83 

wiles  during  that  summer  at  Rouen  that  he  indited 
verses  to  her,  such  as  this  : 

Dear  Marquise,  should  my  face 
Bear  marks  of  life's  long  race, 
Remember,  at  my  age,1 
You  *d  scarcely  more  engage,  etc. 

Corneille's  mediocre  brother,  too,  was  led  a  captive  at 
the  lady's  chariot  wheel  and  added  his  small  mite  of 
verse  to  her  garland ;  so  doubtless  Moliere  and  his 
company  were  benefited  by  this  double  triumph  of  their 
fair  comrade. 

The  name  of  the  courtier  who  hinted  to  Monsieur, 
the  brother  of  the  King,  that  it  was  befitting  his  station 
to  have  a  company  of  players  in  his  suite,  and  suggested 
the  late  comedians  of  the  Prince  de  Conti  as  worthy  of 
his  patronage,  has  never  been  divined  ;  but  Moliere  used 
every  influence  he  could  command  in  bringing  this  event 
to  pass,  spending  the  summer  of  1658  in  journeying 
back  and  forth  to  Paris,  until  at  last  the  royal  summons 
came.  In  October  of  that  eventful  year  the  actresses 
and  actors  of  his  troupe  packed  their  tawdry  costumes 
for  the  last  tramp  on  the  road.  No  more  jolting  ox 
carts  or  weary  footing,  no  more  brutal  soldiers  of  the 
Fronde  to  terrorise  these  humble  Thespians :  for  Paris, 
bright  beneath  an  azure  sky,  stood  smiling  at  their 
journey's  end. 

1  Corneille  was  then  fifty-two. 


84  MOLIERE 


VI 

PARISIAN  SUCCESS 

To  assure  the  company  a  Paris  theatre,  should  Moliere's 
schemes  for  a  hearing  at  court  miscarry,  Madeleine  Bejart, 
as  its  business  manager,  began  negotiations  for  a  lease  of 
the  Theatre  du  Marais.  The  royal  summons  put  an  end 
to  this  transaction  ;  yet  it  is  noteworthy,  because,  in  sign- 
ing a  document  at  Rouen  in  connection  therewith,  she 
gave  her  address  in  Paris  as  the  house  of  "  Monsieur 
Poquelin,  tapissier  valet  de  chambre  du  Roiy  living  in  the 
arcade  of  the  market-place  in  the  parish  of  St.  Eustache." 

This  was  the  house  Moliere's  father  purchased  in  Sep- 
tember, 1633,  and  if  the  actress  who  had  led  his  son  from 
the  paths  of  duty  was  his  guest,  his  welcome  to  the  prod- 
igal was  complete,  to  the  slaying  of  the  fatted  calf.  Even 
an  upholsterer  by  special  appointment  might  pardon  a 
first-born  who  had  written  two  successful  plays ;  but 
financial  reasons  were,  perhaps,  more  potent  than  pride 
in  inspiring  this  paternal  welcome.  Including  the  sums 
advanced  to  absolve  his  debts,  Moliere  had  received  only 
a  portion  of  the  money  due  from  his  mother's  estate. 
Possibly  the  elder  Poquelin  found  it  easier  to  forgive 
than  to  account. 

Of  far  more  importance  than  Moliere's  welcome  be- 
neath the  paternal  roof  was  his  first  appearance  at  court. 
Monsieur,  a  close-fisted  young  reprobate  of  eighteen, 
wished  a  company  of  actors  to  vie  with  his  brother's 
troupe  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  and  to  gratify  this 
whim,  the  late  comedians  of  the  Prince  de  Conti  were 


PARISIAN   SUCCESS  85 

commanded  for  a  trial  performance.  Moliere' s  intrigues 
had  at  last  borne  fruit,  but  he  had  reached  the  age  of 
thirty-six  ;  failure  to  please  meant  that  he  must  return  to 
the  barns  and  high-roads  of  provincial  France. 

October  twenty-fourth,  i6{8?  is  a  momentous  day  in 
the  life  of  this  strolling  player.  To  give  him  audience, 
ladies  with  coifs  and  point  lace  collars,  courtiers  in  perukes 
and  silken  doublets,  gathered  before  a  temporary  stage  in 
the  guard  room  of  the  old  Louvre ;  King  Louis,  too, 
was  there ;  Monsieur,  the  profligate ;  portly  Anne  of 
Austria,  and  Mazarin,  triumphant ;  —  possibly  brave 
D'Artagnan  stood  guard  that  night.  Behind  the  royal 
family  and  the  pleasure  loving  dames  tfhonneur  were  flip- 
pant gentlemen  prepared  to  yawn ;  actors  of  the  Hotel 
de  Bourgogne,  to  scoff.  Amid  the  glow  of  candles  and 
the  odour  of  frangipane,  Moliere  made  his  bow  to  Paris 
and  the  world. 

His  play  was  Corneille's  tragedy  of  Nicomedes  ;  scorn, 
the  verdict  of  his  rivals.  With  an  inspiration  equal  to 
his  genius,  he  stepped  before  the  curtain  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  Corneille  tragedy,  and  thanked  the  King  for  hav- 
ing pardoned  the  defects  of  a  company  which  had  appeared 
with  hesitation  before  so  august  an  assemblage.  "The 
desire,"  he  continued,  "of  having  the  honour  of  amusing 
the  greatest  monarch  in  the  world  had  made  them  forget 
that  his  Majesty  already  had  in  his  service  an  excellent 
troupe,  of  which  they  were  only  modest  imitators.  Since 
the  audience  had  already  endured  their  awkward  country 
manners,  he  humbly  begged  permission  to  give  one  of  the 
trifling  entertainments  which  had  amused  the  provinces." 

The  heart  of  a  king  then  scarcely  past  his  teens 
was  touched  by  this  artful  flattery ;  therefore  Moliere, 
having  made  his  debut  in  the  role  of  courtier,,  placed 


86  MOLIERE 

upon  the  boards  The  Physician  in  Love  (Le  Docteur 
amour  eux},  a  farce  of  his  own  devising.  The  manuscript 
of  that  "  trifling  entertainment "  is  lost,  but  the  King's 
laughter  echoes  through  the  centuries.  By  his  decree 
those  "  modest  imitators  "  of  the  royal  players  became 
\//>  "The  Troupe  of  Monsieur.  Only  Brother  of  the  King." 
and  the  libertine,  thus  honoured,  granted  each  a  pension 
of  three  hundred  livres.  As  at  La  Grange  des  Pres, 
Moliere's  success  was,  in  some  measure,  due  to  feminine 
charms:  the  Preface  of  1682,  in  speaking  of  this  memo- 
rable performance  at  the  Louvre,  says  that  while  "  the 
new  players  did  not  displease,  the  charms  and  the  acting 
of  the  actresses  were,  above  all,  most  satisfactory." 

Monsieur's  pension  was  a  shadowy  boon,  for  with  true 
Orleanist  parsimony  it  was  never  paid ;  not  so  the  King's 
permission  to  use  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon  on  the 
days  unoccupied  by  Scaramouche  and  his  Italian  buffoons. 
A  Paris  theatre  being  Moliere's  quest,  no  time  was  lost 
in  agreeing  with  the  transalpine  players  that  for  fifteen 
hundred  livres  his  company  should  have  the  right  to  play 
Mondays,  Wednesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Saturdays. 

According  to  tradition,  as  has  been  seen,  Moliere, 
when  a  lad,  took  lessons  in  acting  from  this  same  Scara- 
mouche ;  but  in  view  of  the  limited  time  at  a  French 
schoolboy's  disposal,  their  mutual  tenancy  of  the  Petit 
Bourbon  seems  a  more  likely  occasion  for  this  histrionic 
instruction.  That  Moliere  became  the  pupil  of  Tiberio 
Fiurelli,  whose  stage  name,  Scaramouche,  is  a  household 
word,1  is  attested  by  a  quatrain  printed  beneath  a  portrait- 
engraving  by  Vermeulen  of  this  great  buffoon  : 

1  "  Scaramouche  "  (Italian  scaramuccio)  was  a  buffoon  part  in  the  ol< 
Italian  farces.      Tiberio  Fiurelli  was  known  as  Scaramouche  because 
habitually  played  this  part  dressed  in  black  from  head  to  foot. 


PARISIAN   SUCCESS 

This  actor  of  illustrious  tone 
Acquired  his  art's  most  pleasing  feature : 
Though  he  was  Moliere's  patient  teacher, 

Dame  Nature  was  herself  his  own. 

The  evidence  of  Le  Boulanger  de  Chalussay,  too,  is  not 
to  be  despised,  since,  by  exaggerating  fact,  he  made  slan- 
der poignant.  In  his  Elomire  the  Hypochondriac  he 
says: 

For  instance,  Elomire, 
Fully  bent  on  being  any  actor's  peer, 
In  a  manner  wily,  laid  a  cunning  plan  : 
Scaramouche  to  mimic,  justly  famous  man  ; 
So  with  mirror  went  he,  every  morn  and  eve, 
Face  to  see  reflected,  technic  to  achieve  ; 
For  this  noted  pupil,  grimace  and  wry  traits 
Imitated  neatly  in  a  hundred  ways. 

Within  a  week  after  the  performance  of  The  Physi- 
cian in  Love  before  the  King,  MoHere^s  companj^niade 
its^ debut  at  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon.  Situated  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  Seine,  between  the  old  Louvre  and 
the  church  of  St.  Germain  TAuxerrois,  this  theatre  had 
been  the  palace  of  the  Constable  de  Bourbon.  Confis- 
cated to  the  State  upon  his  condemnation  for  high  treason, 
the  family  arms  had  been  effaced  wherever  found,  and 
the  door  daubed  with  the  yellow  paint  used  to  mark  the 
houses  of  criminals  convicted  of  lese  majeste ;  but  in  spite 
of  such  disfigurement,  it  was,  according  to  Sauval,  the 
"  widest,  highest,  and  longest  theatre  in  the  kingdom,"  1 
-  a  eulogy  borne  out  by  a  pamphleteer  of  the  period, 
who  asserts  that  it  was  "  eighteen  fathoms  long  by  eight 
wide,  ending  in  a  circular  apse  seven  fathoms  deep  and 
eight  and  a  half  in  width."  Vaulted,  and  covered  with 

1  Histoire  et  recbercbes  des  antiquites  de  la  ville  de  Paris, 


88  MOLIERE 

fleurs-de-lis,  this  spacious  auditorium  was  otherwise  in  the 
Doric  style,  while  opposite  the  dais  of  the  King  stood  a 
stage  six  feet  high  by  forty-eight  square,  —  an  imposing 
play-house,  it  would  seem,  for  that  or  any  period. 

Monsieur's  comedians  appeared  at  the  Petit  Bourbon 
November  second,  1658.  Grimarest  maintains  that  The 
Blunderer  was  the  first  piece  presented ;  but  Boulanger 
de  Chalussay  names  five  tragedies  by  Corneille,  which 
were  hissed,  before  Moliere  resorted  to  his  own  plays. 
The  persistence  with  which  he  worshipped  Melpomene 
inclines  one  to  belief  in  the  latter  contention.  In  the 
words  of  M.  Louis  Moland,1  "  failure  on  the  one  hand, 
applause  on  the  other,  forced  Moliere  to  surrender  to  his 
own  genius.  How  many  attempts  were  necessary  to  un- 
deceive him,  by  what  a  roundabout  way,  by  what  drastic 
coercion,  the  author  of  The  Misanthrope  became  almost 
in  spite  of  himself  the  greatest  of  comic  poets  !  " 

When  the  dust  was  finally  shaken  from  The  Blun- 
derer, the  piece  which  had  set  Lyons  laughing  turned  the 
hisses  of  the  Parisians  to  applause ;  when  The  Love  Tiff 
followed  "  its  elder  brother,"  even  Boulanger  de  Chalus- 
say, the  slanderer,  exclaimed,  "  C'est  la  faire  et  jouer  des 
pieces  comme  il  faut ! "  Seventy  pistoles,  according  to  La 
Grange,  was  each  actor's  share  of  The  Blunderer  s  receipts, 
und  The  Love  TV^*was  equally  profitable. 

The  court,  absent  from  Paris  since  the  memorable 
performance  at  the  Louvre,  returned  on  January  twenty- 
eighth,  1659,  and  a  fortnight  later  Monsieur  honoured 
his  comedians  with  a  visit  to  the  Petit  Bourbon,  when 
Moliere,  ever  the  courtier,  made  a  speech  in  compliment 
to  his  royal  patron. 

With  the  advent  of  Lent  the  dramatic  season  ended. 
1  Vie  de  J.-B.  P.  Moliere. 


PARISIAN   SUCCESS  89 

During  the  Easter  holidays   Gros-Rene  and  his  pretty 

wife,  Mile,  du   Pare,  inspired  no  doubt  by  some  trivial 

theatrical  huff,  deserted  to  the  Theatre  du  Marais,  the 

i   veteran  Dufresne  retired  from  the  stage,  and  the  gagiste 

I  Croisac  was  discharged.     To  repair  his  depleted  ranks, 

I  Moliere  engaged  two  actors  of  the  Theatre  du  Marais, 

j  Jodelet  and  his  brother  De  1'Espy,  together  with  three 

players  new  to  Paris  :    Charles  Varlet,  Du  Croisy,  and 

!  his  wife,  Marie  Claveau. 

\  Jodelet,  an  experienced  comedian,  known  in  real  life  as 
Julien  Bedeau,  was  a  lean/#nw£,  or  buffoon,  who  whit- 
ened his  face  with  flour,  and  had  but  to  show  himself 
upon  the  stage  to  provoke  laughter.  He  died  within  a 
year,  so  that  his  association  with  the  company  was  short- 
lived ;  but  Charles  Varlet  remained  a  member  until  after 
Moliere's  death.  Indeed,  this  latter  actor,  more  usually 
known  by  his  stage  name  of  Sieur  de  la  Grange  (his 
matronymic,  with  an  assumed  nobiliary  particle),  was  the 
compiler  of  the  famous  register  of  the  troupe's  receipts 
and  disbursements,  still  preserved  in  the  archives  of  the 
Theatre  Fran^ais.  Robbed  of  his  inheritance  by  an  ab- 
sconding guardian,  La  Grange  drifted  to  the  stage  and, 
meeting  Moliere  in  Paris,  was  engaged  for  subordinate 
parts  at  the  Petit  Bourbon  and,  upon  the  death  of  Joseph 
Bejart,  promoted  to  be  jeune  premier.  Later  he  became 
orateur  of  the  troupe,  and  besides  compiling  his  register, 
edited  the  first  complete  edition  of  Moliere's  works  (1682), 
in  conjunction  with  his  friend  Vinot.  In  1672  La  Grange 
married  Marie  (or  Marotte)  Ragueneau,  the  pastry-cook- 
poet's  daughter,  who,  serving  first  as  Mile,  de  Erie's 
maid,  became  a  ticket  collector  for  the  company,  then  a 
character  actress. 

Philibert  Gassot,  a  gentleman  of  Beauce,  best  known 


9o  MOLlfiRE 

by  the  pseudonym  of  Sieur  du  Croisy,  had  been  head  of 
a  strolling  company.  Even  his  obesity  could  not  destroy 
his  graceful  bearing  on  the  stage,  and  he  was  reckoned 
one  of  Moliere's  best  comedians.  At  the  time  of  his 
advent  at  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon,  he  was  married 
to  Marie  Claveau,  an  indifferent  actress  engaged  because 
of  her  husband's  talent ;  while  the  same  might  be  said 
of  Jodelet's  brother,  Sieur  de  1'Espy,  who  failed  except 
in  parts  written  to  suit  his  eccentricities. 

With  his  company  thus  enlarged,  MoHere  opened  the 
theatrical  season  of  1659  by  playing  The  Love  Tiff  at 
the  chateau  de  Chilly- Mazarin  before  the  Marechal  de 
la  Meilleraye's  august  guest,  the  King.  This  comedy  in 
verse  gave  the  young  monarch  a  better  opportunity  of 
judging  its  author's  merits  than  the  farce  he  had  witnessed 
in  the  guard  room  of  the  Louvre,  and  his  discernment 
proved  keener  than  that  of  his  courtiers.  Even  Jean 
Loret,  the  society  journalist  of  the  day,  considered  the 
comedy  played  at  Chilly  of  no  more  importance  than  the 
violins  provided  for  his  Majesty's  diversion,  but  Louis 
was  so  edified  that  on  May  tenth  The  Blunderer  was 
played  before  him  at  the  Louvre.1 

During  this  command  performance  Joseph  Bejart,  the 
company's  jeune  premier,  if  the  term  be  not  a  misnomer 

1  What  more  remains  to  say  — 
The  violins  ?  the  play  ? 

Muse  bistoriquf,  April  19,  1659. 

La  Muse  bistorique,  a  weekly  pamphlet  in  which  current  events  in 
politics,  literature,  the  drama,  and  society  were  treated  wittily  in  verse  by 
its  editor,  Jean  Loret,  constituted  the  press  of  the  period,  together  with  its 
senior,  La  Gazette  de  Francey  established  in  1631  by  Theophraste 
Renoudot.  Le  Mercure  galant,  founded  by  Donneau  de  Vize,  which, 
later,  became  Le  Mercure  de  France,  filled  the  role  of  monthly  magazine. 


PARISIAN   SUCCESS  91 

for  a  man  fifty-one  years  old,  was  taken  ill  while  playing 
his  accustomed  part  of  Lelie,  and  died  a  few  days  later. 
His  sister's  companion  in  her  early  wanderings,  the  poet's 
comrade  since  the  days  of  "The  Illustrious  Theatre," 
his  loss  must  have  been  keenly  felt,  for  his  colleagues 
closed  their  play-house  during  a  fortnight.  Owing  to  a 
habit  of  stuttering,  Joseph  Bejart  was  an  indifferent  actor, 
but  he  had  the  commercial  spirit  strongly  developed. 
In  1656,  for  a  genealogy  of  the  provincial  nobility 
of  Languedoc  he  had  written,  he  was  rewarded  by  that 
province  with  a  grant  of  fifteen  hundred  livres ;  but  a 
paltry  five  hundred  was  made  to  requite  a  supple- 
ment, and  Bejart  was  dismissed  with  an  admonition  to 
indulge  in  no  more  such  literary  cupidity.  Unabashed, 
however,  by  this  rebuff,  he  continued  grubbing  money 
in  divers  ways,  until  he  had  amassed  an  estate  valued 
at  twenty-four  thousand  £cusy  a  colossal  fortune  for  a 
comedian. 

In  July,  1659,  owing  to  the  departure  of  his  Italian 
competitors  for  Italy,  Moliere  was  left  in  sole  possession 
or^fhe  FTotel  du  Petit  Bourbon.  This  enabled  him  to 
give  performances  on  Sunday,  Tuesday,  and  Friday,  the 
so-called  regular  theatrical  days.  Plays  were  presented 
in  the  afternoon,  hence,  Monday  being  post  day  for 
Germany  and  Italy,  Wednesday  and  Saturday  market 
days,  and  Thursday  the  time  of  the  fashionable  prome- 
nade, the  advantage  of  the  regular  days  is  apparent 
However,  this  good  fortune  was  almost  counterbalanced 
by  the  departure  of  the  court  from  Paris. 

France  had  been  at  war  with  Spain  for  some  twenty 
years,  and  Mazarin,  in  negotiating  peace,  had  in  view  a 
marriage  between  his  sovereign  and  the  Infanta  Maria 
Theresa ;  but  the  ministers  of  Philip  IV  were  so  dilatory 


92  MOLlfiRE 

that  the  artful  cardinal  set  off  for  Lyons  with  the  King 
to  meet  the  Princess  Margaret  of  Savoy,  a  possible 
candidate  for  the  throne.  The  ruse  succeeded ;  the 
Spaniards  hastening  to  resume  negotiations  with  the 
result  that  Maria  Theresa  was  affianced  to  Louis  XIV 
on  November  seventh,  1659. 

The  successful  runs  of  The  Blunderer  and  The  Love 
Tiff  terminated  while  these  negotiations  for  the  royal 
marriage  were  still  in  progress.  The  court  being  absent, 
Moliere's  audiences  were  considerably  diminished  ;  so, 
obliged  to  seek  a  novelty  for  autumn  production,  his 
last  recourse  was  to  his  own  muse.  The  result  of  this 
forced  labour  was  an  epoch-making  play,  Les  Precieuses 
ridicules. 

When  this  satirical  comedy  was  produced  at  the  Hotel 
du  Petit  Bourbon,  November  eighteenth,  1659,  all  Paris 
laughed  except  the  precieuses,  or  fashionable  blue-stock- 
ings, who  saw  themselves  portrayed.  The  story  of  this 
play  will  be  left  to  the  ensuing  chapter,  but  it  may  be 
said  in  passing  that  the  influence  of  the  ladies,  thus 
antagonised,  was  sufficient  to  interdict  its  performances 
for  a  time.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  public  had  been  too 
great,  however,  for  such  a  ban  to  be  effective,  and  in 
response  to  popular  clamour  Les  Precieuses  ridicules  was 
again  presented  on  December  second.  Its  success  was 
so  pronounced  that  the  price  of  tickets  was  doubled, 
while  people  came  to  Paris  from  twenty  leagues  around 
to  be  amused  by  a  comedy  called,  by  a  contemporary, 
"  the  most  charming  and  delicate  which  had  ever 
appeared  upon  the  stage."  From  December  second, 
1659,  until  the  Easter  closing  of  the  theatre,  La  Grange 
records  thirty- two  performances  of  this  piece,  not  counting 
the  representations  given  at  fashionable  houses  in  Lent. 


PARISIAN    SUCCESS 


93 


During  the  Easter  holidays  death  removed  lean  Jo- 
delet,  the  faring  from  the  company,  but  his  loss  was 
not  irreparable.  Gros-Rene,  together  with  his  fascinating 
wife,  returned  to  the  fold  of  the  Petit  Bourbon,  and, 
according  to  Loret,  this  fat  comedian  "  was  worth  three 
Jodelets." 

While  Les  Precieuses  ridicules  was  arousing  the  anger 
of  the  blue-stockings,  the  King  was  in  the  Pyrenees, 
and  before  he  could  reach  his  capital  to  join  in  the 
laughter  at  their  expense,  Moliere  had  produced  Sgana- 
relle ;  or,  The  Imaginary  Cockold  (Sganarelle  ou  le  Cocu 
imaginaire],  a  one-act  farce  in  verse,  with  sufficient 
mirth  to  fill  the  Petit  Bourbon  thirty-four  times  during 
the  dull  season  and  command  various  engagements  at 
country  houses.  The  merits  of  this  piece  will  be  dis- 
cussed in  a  future  chapter ;  but  a  word  from  an  eye- 
witness upon  Moliere's  acting  in  the  title  role : 

Nothing  more  delightful  had  ever  been  seen  upon  the 
stage  than  Sganarelle's  attitudes  behind  his  wife's  back, 
while  his  face  and  gestures  expressed  jealousy  so  thor- 
oughly that  speech  was  not  needed  to  make  him  appear 
the  most  outraged  of  husbands. 

Sighing  for  "  the  brush  of  a  Poussin,  a  Le  Brun,  or  a 
Mignard,  to  picture  these  drolleries,"  the  admirer  who 
thus  expressed  himself,  Neufvillenaine  by  name,  stood 
in  the  parterre  until  he  had  learned  the  play  by  heart, 
then  rushed  to  a  printing-office  and  gave  it  to  the  world. 
Not  only  did  this  freebooter  publish  Sganarelle  from 
memory,  but  enjoined  the  author  himself  from  printing 
it  for  five  years.  Rather  than  submit  to  such  high 
handed  robbery,  Moliere  seized  the  pirated  copies  in 
the  bookstalls,  and  sued  the  offender ;  whereupon  Neuf- 


94  MOLIERE 

villenaine  published  a  new  edition  of  Sganarelle,  with  a 
dedicatory  letter  to  the  author  containing  the  ingenuous 
defence  that  "  no  harm  had  been  done  him,  since  his 
piece  had  been  played  nearly  fifty  times." 

The  Blunderer  and  The  Love  Tiff  had  not  been  con- 
sidered worthy  of  publication,  and  even  Les  Precieuses 
ridicules  was  printed  more  through  a  desire  to  present  a 
defensive  preface  to  the  public  than  to  protect  the  author's 
rights.  His  experience  with  Monsieur  Neufvillenaine 
taught  Moliere  a  salutary  lesson,  however,  and  thereafter 
his  work  was  given  to  the  public  before  it  could  be  stolen. 
All  thanks  to  this  literary  pirate  ! 1 

On  the  seventh  of  June,  1660,  King  Louis  met  the 
Infanta  Maria  Theresa  at  the  frontier ;  then  journeying 
toward  Paris,  tarried  through  July  and  August  at  Vin- 
cennes.  Here  Moliere  appeared  three  times,  playing 
both  Les  Precieuses  ridicules  and  Sganarelle  with  such 
marked  success  that,  after  the  King  had  entered  Paris  in 
triumph  with  his  Spanish  bride,  the  poet  was  thrice  sum- 
moned to  the  Louvre.  This  royal  advertising  was  a 
somewhat  empty  boon  just  then,  for  the  public  was  too 
engrossed  with  processions  and  fireworks  to  attend  the- 
atrical performances. 

Indeed  what  comedy  could  compete  with  the  spectacle 
of  a  royal  wedding?  Maria  Theresa  was  displayed  to  the 
populace  in  a  gilded  car ;  young  Louis,  clothed  in  gold 
and  silver  embroidery,  rode  at  the  head  of  his  nobility 
amid  huzzas  and  acclamations.  It  was  his  first  real  hour 
of  kingship  and,  while  he  tasted  splendour  to  the  full, 
Fran9oise  d'Aubigne  looked  upon  his  handsome  face  and 

1  A  reason  for  Moliere' s  hesitancy  regarding  the  publication  of  his 
plays  is  found  in  the  curious  law  of  the  period,  which  made  a  published 
play  public  property  for  acting  purposes. 


PARISIAN   SUCCESS  95 

envied  Mazarin  —  until  that  day  his  ruler.  This  won- 
drous lady's  hour  of  liberation  was  at  hand.  Within 
the  month  Scarron,  her  lord  and  master,  drew  his  last 
will  and  testament  in  verse,  then  died.  Having  nothing 
to  bequeath  but  jokes,  he  left  his  wife  the  privilege  of 
remarrying ;  to  Loret  he  bequeathed  a  pipe  of  wine ; 
five  hundred  pounds  of  gravity  for  the  two  Corneilles, 
and  to  his  other  literary  friends  the  qualities  and  ab- 
surdities they  possessed  already.  Then,  remember- 
ing one  who  had  just  carried  theatrical  Paris  by  storm, 
he  left  "To  Moliere,  cuckoldom," — a  legacy  indeed 
prophetic! 

Moliere  had  need  of  a  bequest  less  cynical.  During 
the  royal  wedding  festivities  the  receipts  of  his  theatre 
had  diminished  wofully,  and  at  the  time  of  Scarron's 
death  he  was  in  a  plight  far  more  serious  than  playing 
in  opposition  to  processions,  tournaments,  and  fireworks. 
Being  without  fame  heretofore,  he  had  been  without 
enemies ;  but  when  Les  Precieuses  ridicules  set  all  Paris 
laughing  at  the  expense  of  high  society,  he  sowed 
dragons'  teeth.  Now,  when  his  fortunes  seemed  wan- 
ing, foes  sprang  full  armed  to  his  attack. 

On  October  eleventh  Monsieur  de  Ratabon,  superin- 
tendent of  the  royal  buildings,  began  to  destroy  the 
Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon  without  warning  to  its  occu- 
pants. Dumfounded  by  this  unforeseen  attack,  Moliere 
complained  to  the  King ;  whereupon  the  official  justified 
his  action  by  stating  that  the  building  stood  in  the  way  of 
proposed  improvements  to  the  Louvre,  while  the  stage 
fixtures,  having  been  built  for  the  royal  ballets,  belonged 
to  his  Majesty.  As  La  Grange  ingenuously  remarks, 
"  the  evil  intention  of  Monsieur  de  Ratabon  was  appar- 
ent," and  doubtless  powerful  social  leaders,  resenting 


96  MOLIERE 

Les  Precieuses  ridicules,  inspired  this  covert  attack  upon 
its  author.  The  King  bore  no  such  enmity,  and  when 
his  brother  asked  for  the  theatre  in  the  Palais  Royal  to 
indemnify  his  comedians  for  the  wrong  done  them,  his 
Majesty  granted  the  request,  and  ordered  the  offending 
Ratabon  to  make  the  necessary  repairs. 

Built  in  1639  ^7  Richelieu  to  gratify  his  passion  for 
the  stage,  this  theatre  had  fallen  into  such  a  state  of  ruin 
since  the  Palais  Cardinal  had  become  the  Palais  Royal, 
that  three  beams  had  rotted  and  half  the  auditorium  was 
unroofed  ;  but  being  the  property  of  the  King,  Moliere 
could  not  be  molested  there  except  by  royal  command. 
Occupying  the  right  wing  of  the  palace,  it  had  its  en- 
trance in  the  rue  St.  Honore  near  where  the  Theatre 
Fransais  now  stands,  and  was,  according  to  Sauval,  "  the 
most  comfortable  theatre  ever  known."  This  authority 
maintains  that  it  held  four  thousand  spectators,  but  in 
Moliere's  day  its  seating  capacity  must  have  been  greatly 
reduced.  Karl  Mantzius  thus  transcribes  the  contem- 
porary descriptions  of  the  auditorium  : 

The  hall  was  a  long  parallelogram,  with  the  stage  at 
one  end ;  the  floor  ascended  gradually  in  the  opposite 
direction  by  means  of  twenty-seven  low,  broad  stone 
steps,  on  which  stood  wooden  seats.  The  steps  did  not 
curve,  but  crossed  the  whole  breadth  of  the  hall  in  a 
straight  line,  and  ran  up  to  a  kind  of  portico  at  the  back 
of  the  hall  formed  of  three  large  arcades.  Along  each 
side  two  gilded  balconies  ran  from  the  portico  to  within 
a  short  distance  of  the  proscenium.  The  actual  stage 
did  not  occupy  the  whole  breadth  of  the  hall,  but  formed 
a  kind  of  large,  flat  arch  supported  by  two  pillars  of 
masonry,  which  on  the  sides  facing  the  audience  were 
decorated  with  Ionian  pilasters,  while  the  sides  that  faced 
each  other  contained  each  two  niches  with  allegorical 


PARISIAN    SUCCESS  97 

statues.  From  the  stage  six  steps  led  down  to  the  seats 
on  the  floor,  and  at  the  top,  in  the  middle  of  the  arch, 
was  Richelieu's  coat-of-arms.1 

Although,  to  hasten  the  repairs,  Moliere  asked  permis- 
sion to  remove  the  boxes  and  stage  appliances  from  the 
Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon  to  his  new  theatre,  the  King's 
machinist  kept  the  latter  under  the  pretext  that  they 
would  be  useful  at  the  Tuileries,  then  promptly  burnt 
them.  Court  officials  and  ladies  of  quality  were  not 
alone  in  their  hostility ;  Moliere's  rivals  at  the  Hotel  de 
Bourgogne,  seeing  the  stage  of  the  Petit  Bourbon  taken 
from  under  his  feet,  tried  to  spread  sedition  in  his  com- 
pany by  offering  more  lucrative  positions  to  its  members, 
but  they  did  not  know  their  man.  Witness  this  tribute 
of  La  Grange : 

All  the  actors  loved  their  chief,  Le  Sieur  de  Moliere, 
who,  besides  being  worthy  and  extraordinarily  capable, 
was  so  honest  and  had  such  engaging  manners  that  they 
felt  obliged,  one  and  all,  to  protest  their  loyalty,  and 
vow  they  would  follow  his  fortunes,  no  matter  what 
inducements  or  advantages  might  be  found  elsewhere. 

These  words,  written  by  a  comrade  at  a  moment 
when  Moliere's  fortunes  were  ebbing,  paint  his  character 
in  unmistakable  colours.  "  All  the  actors  loved  their 
chief"  —  no  modern  eulogy  is  needed. 

During  the  three  months  while  Moliere  was  without 
a  play-house,  his  troupe  appeared  occasionally  in  private 
houses  and  at  the  Louvre.  These  performances  brought 
five  thousand  one  hundred  and  fifteen  livres,  but  the 

1  Moliere  and  bis  Times :  The  Theatre  in  France  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century,  Vol.  IV,  History  of  Theatrical  Art. 


98  MOLIERE 

major  portion  being  expended  on  the  new  theatre,  the 
comedians  were  on  short  commons.  The  company  was 
a  mutual  benefit  association,  in  which  each  member 
received  one  share  of  the  net  receipts.  The  only  diver- 
gence from  this  rule  was  the  allotment  of  an  extra  share 
to  Moliere  at  the  time  of  his  marriage  in  1661,  and 
another  in  1663,  in  recognition  of  his  rights  as  author, — 
a  modest  compensation,  indeed,  for  one  who  filled  the 
triple  role  of  play  writer,  manager,  and  star.  An  annual 
pension  of  one  thousand  livres  was  paid  a  retiring  actor 
by  his  successor,  and,  in  case  of  death,  a  like  sum  was 
given  the  nearest  kinsman ;  hence  membership  in  the 
company  included  both  a  disability  pension  and  a  life 
insurance. 

After  each  performance  the  chambreey  or  money  re- 
ceived, was  counted,  and,  when  expenses  had  been 
deducted,  divided  among  the  players.  The  receipts 
fluctuated  greatly.  Often  falling  below  one  hundred 
livres,  they  dwindled,  on  March  ninth,  1660,  to  the 
mere  pittance  of  forty;  yet  on  March  fifth,  1669, 
at  the  first  public  production  of  The  Hypocrite,  they 
reached  the  phenomenal  sum  of  two  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  sixty  livres,  and  frequently  passed  the 
thousand  mark.1  As  the  charge  for  admission  depended 
much  upon  the  success  of  a  piece,  it  is  difficult  to 
present  an  accurate  scale  of  prices.  The  various  parts  of 
the  house  were  known  as  stage  seats,  lower  tier  boxes, 
amphitheatre,  upper  boxes,  third  tier  boxes,  and  par- 
terre. The  first  three  of  these  divisions  were  the  most 
desirable,  and  the  price  of  seats  therein,  the  same. 
Three  livres  was  the  ordinary  charge,  but  when  a  suc- 
cessful piece  held  the  boards,  the  demi-Iouis  (Tor  —  or 
1  Registre  de  la  Grange. 


PARISIAN   SUCCESS  99 

five  livres  ten  sous  —  was  demanded  in  the  fashionable 
portions  of  the  house.  For  the  parterre,  or  pit,  fifteen 
sous  was  the  normal  charge ;  but  when  the  prices  were 
doubled,  as  on  the  occasion  of  the  second  representation 
of  Les  Precieuses  ridicules,  thirty  sous  was  asked  for  the 
privilege  of  standing  amid  the  hoi  polloi* 

The  King's  musketeers  were  "  dead  heads,"  the  stage 
seats  of  the  dandy  nobles  seldom  paid  for,  and  Mon- 
sieur's subvention  a  will-o'-the-wisp ;  so  Moliere's  most 
reliable  source  of  revenue  was  the  patronage  of  the  bour- 
geoisie. Although  his  rivals  at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne 
drew  annually  from  the  royal  treasury  a  pension  of 
twelve  thousand  livres,  and  the  Italians  drew  fifteen 
thousand,  Moliere,  during  the  first  eight  years  of  his 
sojourn  in  Paris,  had  no  such  good  fortune.  Still  the 
lot  of  a  comedian  in  his  company  was  not  to  be  despised, 
for  La  Grange,  from  the  time  he  became  a  member  until 
the  poet's  death  —  a  period  of  fourteen  years  —  received 
the  sum  of  fifty-one  thousand  six  hundred  and  seventy 
livres  as  his  share  of  the  receipts,  an  amount  a  modern 
actor  might  envy. 

Although  his  name  was  not  yet  on  the  royal  pension 
list,  Moliere  possessed  his  King's  regard  —  a  far  more 
valuable  asset.  He  had  called  him  "  the  greatest  mon- 
arch in  the  world,"  and  when  the  young  man  of  twenty 
thus  flattered  was  amused  as  well,  Moliere's  fortune  was 
assured.  In  that  complaisant  age  the  King's  favour  was 
essential  to  any  man  whose  livelihood  depended  on  the 
public.  To  Moliere  it  meant  far  more,  for  it  gave  him 
the  courage  to  paint  society  in  the  unerring  colours  of 
truth,  and  when  his  company  was  homeless,  financial 
support  as  well :  for  example,  between  October  eleventh, 
1  Le  Theatre  fran$ais  sous  Louis  XIPby  Eugene  Despois. 


ioo  MOLlfiRE 

1660,  and  January  twentieth  of  the  following  year  —  the 
period  when  he  was  without  a  theatre  —  his  company 
played  at  court  six  times,  while  the  troupe  of  the  Hotel 
de  Bourgogne  appeared  but  once. 

One  of  these  command  performances  is  of  more  than 
passing  interest.  On  October  twenty-sixth,  1660,  Mo- 
liere's  troupe  went  to  the  Louvre  to  present  The  Blunderer 
and  Les  Precieuses  ridicules.  "  Monsieur  le  Cardinal 
Mazarin  was  ill,"  says  La  Grange,  "  and  his  Majesty 
saw  the  comedy  while  resting  on  the  back  of  his  Emi- 
nence's chair  " ;  in  a  word,  a  young  king  on  the  thresh- 
old of  his  power,  his  dying  master,  and  his  hired  player, 
—  the  greatest  despot,  the  greatest  knave,  and  the  greatest 
genius  of  France. 


LES   PRECIEUSES   RIDICULES 


101 


VII 

LES   PRECIEUSES   RIDICULES 

UNTIL  the  eventful  afternoon  when  Les  Precieuses  ridi- 
cules was  produced  at  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon,  the 
term  precieuse  had  meant  a  woman  of  cultivation  truly 
precious.  It  became  thenceforth  an  obloquy.  To  ap- 
preciate how  vulnerable  to  satire  were  the  ladies  who  had 
gloried  in  that  title,  their  story  must  be  told. 

During  the  religious  wars  the  manners  of  society  had 
been  those  of  the  camp.  At  their  close  Catherine  de 
Vivonne,  Marquise  de  Rambouillet,  a  social  leader  of 
unequalled  talent,  re-createcl  French  refinement;  yet  so 
far  reaching  has  been  the  effect  of  Moliere's  comedy 
that  she  is  often  classed  with  her  copyists  as  a  precieuse 
ridicule.  Besides  being  ambitious  and  tactful,  this  re- 
markable woman  was  actively  virtuous,  —  a  merit  which 
led  her  to  head  a  reaction  against  the  coarseness  of  con- 
temporary court  life,  and  revive  a  taste  for  true  culture  j 
among  the  idle  born. 

Rebuilding  her  hfael  in  the  rue  St.  Thomas  du 
Louvre1  with  this  end  in  view,  she  discarded  the  cus- 
tomary central  stairway,  and  substituted  for  the  single 
vast  and  dreary  salon  of  the  period  a  series  of  ante- 
chambers and  cabinets.  In  her  drawing-room  the  con- 

1  Situated  on  the  site  now  occupied  by  the  Grands  Magazins  du 
Louvre. 


102  MOLIERE 

ventional  shades  of  red  and  tan  colour  were  rejected, 
and  the  blue  velvet  furnishings  installed  which  gave  it 
the  name  of  the  Blue  Room,  le  salon  bleu.  When  its 
doors  were  thrown  open  to  the  wit  and  beauty  of  Paris, 
French  verse  rose  from  the  mire  of  tavern  song  to  the 
dignity  of  poetry.  Richelieu's  condescension  had  made 
the  writer's  lot  intolerable  ;  but  Madame  de  Rarnbouillet 
received  the  humblest  author  on  a  plane  of  equality  with 
the  grandest  seigneur. 

During  its  career  of  more  than  forty  years  (1617—65), 
the  Hotel  de  Rarnbouillet  passed  through  three  well 
defined  phases.  In  the  period  of  formation  its  famous 
coterie  was  animated  by  youthful  enthusiasm.  Mme. 
de  Rarnbouillet  was  in  the  charming  thirties ;  Julie,  her 
eldest  daughter,  and  Madeleine  de  Scudery  were  just 
budding  into  womanhood  ;  Vaugelas,  Racan,  Jean  Louis 
de  Balzac,  Chapelain,  and  Voiture  ranged  in  age  from 
thirty-five  to  twenty-two.  Imperious  Malherbe  alone 
was  old  and  crusty ;  yet  even  he  unbent  so  far  as  to 
contrive  the  poetic  anagram  of  Arthenice  from  the  Chris- 
tian name  of  his  hostess. 

The  assumption  of  fantastic  noms  de  Parnasse  was  a 
feature  of  preciosity,  so  credit  for  inventing  that  cult 
might  be  given  Malherbe;  but  in  those  earlier  days 
affectation  played  small  part  at  the  Hotel  de  Rarnbouillet. 
To  quote  Chapelain,  "  In  no  other  place  in  the  world 
was  there  more  good  sense  and  less  pedantry."  Conver- 
sation was  cultivated  as  a  fine  art,  and  literature  discussed 
with  such  intelligence  that  authors  stood  in  honest  dread 
of  the  Blue  Room  coterie's  verdict.  Moreover,  new 
words  were  introduced  into  the  language^  superfluous 
letters  suppressed,  obscure  points  argued,  and  terms 
de-fined  which  were  soon  to  find  a  place  in  the  dictionary 


LES   PRECIEUSES   RIDICULES         103 

of  the  French  Academy;1  in  short,  through  one  charm- 
ing woman's  tact,  the  poet  and  the  scholar  replaced  the 
swashbuckler  as  a  social  influence. 

Restraining  Malherbe  died  in  1628,  whereupon  Eru- 
dition, that  just  god,  was  deposed  by  Verbiage.  Sarrasin, 
Conrart,  Patru,  Godeau,  Menage,  Benserade,  and  Segrais 
became  the  acolytes  of  High  Priest  Voiture,  arbiter  of 
elegance ;  Mile,  de  Coligny  and  Mile,  de  Scudery,  the 
Princesse  de  Guemene,  the  Marquise  de  Sable,  and  the 
Comtesse  de  Maure  were  among  his  devotees ;  even 
the  great  Conde,  Saint-Evremond,  and  La  Rochefoucauld 
bent  the  knee.  Garlands  of  verses  were  entwined  in 
daughter  Julie's  honour;  young  Bossuet  preached  ex- 
perimental sermons  in  the  Blue  Room ;  Corneille  read 
tragedies ;  but,  alas,  circumlocution  dominated  the  ritual  I 
of  its  culture  worship.  Still,  Voiture' s  sonnets  and  ' 
roundelays  were  charming  poetry,  his  al  fresco  fetes 
distinguished  for  good  taste:  not  until  his  death  did 
preciosity  become  ridiculous. 

The  third  phase  is  the  period  of  decline.  In  1645 
Julie  d'Angennes,  Madame  de  Rambouillet's  eldest 
daughter,  married  a  persistent  nobleman,2  whose  austerity 
chilled  the  Blue  Room  atmosphere ;  and  Voiture  died 
three  years  later.  Then  the  Fronde  divided  society 
into  bitter  factions,  and  family  deaths  closed  the  doors 
of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet  for  a  time ;  the  subse- 
quent illness  of  its  hostess,  too,  although  accountable  for 

1  The  French  Academy  was  founded  officially  by  Richelieu  in  1635. 
Many  of  its  members,  however,  had  been  meeting  for  some  years  previous 
at  the  house  of  Conrart,  an  habitue  of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet.      One 
of  its  first  labours  was  the  compilation  of  an  authoritative  dictionary  of  the 
French  language. 

2  The  Marquis  de  Montausier,  created  Due  de  Montausier  in  1664. 


io4  MOLlfiRE 

the  quaint  custom  of  receiving  guests  at  the  ruelle,  or 
bedside,   restricted   its    coterie   to   her   intimate  friends. 
After  the  wars  of  the  Fronde  the  Blue  Room  was  re- 
opened,  but   Madame   de   Rambouillet  was  verging  on 
/seventy.     Claimants  for  her  social  throne  appeared  —  to 
emulate  but  not  to  equal  her  in  brilliancy  —  and  in  the 
L  salons  of  these  rivals  the  preciosity  that  Moliere  satirised 
\was  born,  —  a  base  imitation  of  the  Blue  Room  culture. 

Among  these  competitors  was  Madeleine  de  Scudery, 
whose  novel,  Artamtne  ou  le  Grand  Cyrus  (1649-53), 
appeared  about  the  time  the  mysterious  word  precieuse 
was  first  whispered  from  lip  to  lip.  This  interminable 
story  portrayed  the  Blue  Room  familiars  in  the  guise  of 
classic  heroes,  and  its  success  was  so  marked  that  its  old 
maid  author  resolved  to  secede  from  the  Hotel  de  Ram- 
bouillet and  embark  in  leadership  herself.  When  the 
languishments  and  love  maps  of  A rtamlnes  ten-volume 
successor,  Cl'elie  (1656),  created  a  maudlin  craze  through- 
out feminine  Paris,  Mile,  de  Scudery's  salon  in  the  rue 
de  Beauce  became  the  consecrated  temple  of  preciosity. 

Socially  ambitious  women  were  early  proselytes  of  the 
new  cult.  Knowing  the  futility  of  storming  the  exclusive 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  they  concentrated  their  attacks 
upon  the  weaker  stronghold,  and  in  their  zeal  for  re- 
finement endeavoured  to  annex  the  entire  realm  of 
knowledge :  if  Mile,  de  Scudery's  salon  was  lacking  in 
distinction,  it  certainly  made  up  for  it  in  frenzy.  In 
the  rue  St.  Thomas  du  Louvre,  preciosity  had  been 
a  creditable  avoidance  of  distasteful  terms, — a  literary 
movement  no  more  pronounced  than  the  euphuism  of 
Sidney  and  Lyly,  less  so  than  that  of  Gongora  in  Spain 

(or  Marini  in  Italy,  —  but  in  the  rue  de  Beauce  it  became 
an  absurd  neology  and  the  cult  of  extravagant  words. 


LES   PRECIEUSES   RIDICULES         105 

Imagine  a  fashion  demanding  circumlocutory  quirks 
in  ordinary  conversation,  such  as  "defiers  of  the  weather" 
for  hats,   "  indispensables   of  conversation "   for   chairs, 
"  furniture  of  the  mouth  "  for  teeth,  "  pearls  of  Iris  "  for 
tears,  and  "gates  of  the  understanding"  for  ears;  yeti 
such  was  the  preciosity  of  Mile,  de  Scudery's  disciples.) 
Moreover,  it  was  not  confined  to  love-lorn  spinsters  or 
to  new  women;  for seach  precieuse  had  her  alcoviste,  or 
attendant  cavalier,  and  precious  verbiage  was  designed, 
above  all,  adequately  to  express  the  tender  passion. 

There  were  several  degrees  of  precieuses —  les  illustres, 
les  grandesy  et  les  petites  —  and  in  Parisian  society  a  pre- 
cieuse  illustre  took  rank  as  a  duchess  at  court.  In  the 
capital  the  disciples  of  the  new  ritual  performed  just 
such  antics  of  culture  as  did  the  aesthetes  in  England  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago,  and  in  the  provinces,  where 
Parisian  manners  were  aped  by  all  foolish  women,  the 
pranks  of  the  precieuses  passed  all  reason. 

This  was  the  state  in  which  preciosity  found  itself 
when  Moliere  reached  Paris  in  the  autumn  of  1658. 
He  was  no  stranger  to  the  cult,  for  it  had  already 
penetrated  Languedoc ;  furthermore,  Sarrasin,  the  poet- 
secretary  of  the  Prince  de  Conti,  was  a  familiar  of  the 
Blue  Room  and  the  successor  of  Voiture  as  arbiter  of 
elegance.  The  influence  of  such  a  man  upon  a  provin- 
cial court  must  have  been  paramount;  and  when  Moliere 
took  part  in  the  Ballet  of  the  Incompatible*  at  Mont- 
pellier  in  1655,  he  doubtless  met  many  ridiculous  pre- 
cieuses, any  one  of  whom  might  have  inspired  his 
comedy.  Indeed,  Grimarest  states  that  Les  Precieuses 
ridicules  was  first  played  in  the  provinces ;  while  Roe- 
derer1  places  its  production  at  Beziers  in  1654. 

1  Memoir  e  pour  servir  a  /'  bistoire  de  la  socM  polie  en  France. 


106  MOLlfeRE 

La  Grange  and  Vinot,  on  the  other  hand,  assert  in 
the  Preface  of  1682  that  "  M.  de  Moliere  made  (fit)  the 
comedy  of  Les  Pr'ecieuses  ridicules  in  1659,"  while  the 
former,  in  his  Register ',  calls  it  the  poet's  "  third  new 
piece/'  Roederer's  arguments  being  far  from  conclusive 
and  Grimarest  a  much  discredited  authority,  this  point 
is  still  a  mooted  one.  Moliere' s  precieuses,  however,  are 
ladies  from  the  provinces,  and  it  remained  his  habit  to 
make  use  of  scenes  and  characters  from  his  earlier  pieces ; 
therefore  it  is  reasonable  to  suspect  that  Les  Precieuses 
ridicules  was  a  provincial  canevas,  embellished  and  recon- 
structed for  Parisian  use. 

Chapelle  and  Bachaumont,  after  their  journey  through 
the  South  in  1656,  composed  a  satire  on  the  ways  of 
country  precieuses  which,  it  is  more  than  likely,  Moliere 
had  seen ;  that  same  year,  too,  the  Abbe  de  Pure  pub- 
lished a  novel  called  The  Precieuse;  or,  The  Mystery 
of  the  Alcove  (La  Precieuse  ou  le  My s fere  de  la  ruelle\ 
and  a  play  by  him  on  a  similar  topic  was  presented  by 
the  Italians  at  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon.  Indeed, 
Moliere's  contemporaries  openly  accused  him  of  steal- 
ing his  idea  from  this  churchman,  —  a  false  accusation, 
of  course,  if  his  comedy  had  been  first  played  in  the 
provinces. 

Les  Precieuses  ridicules,  as  has  been  seen,  was  produced 
at  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon  with  marked  success  on 
November  eighteenth,  1659,  and  so  antagonised  the  real 
precieuses  that  the  author  was  forced  to  withdraw  it  for 
a  fortnight.  Now,  as  the  reader  is  already  aware,  these 
ladies  were  the  society  leaders  of  that  day ;  so  it  must 
be  admitted  that  in  ridiculing  the  foibles  of  his  most 
influential  patrons  Moliere,  still  a  man  comparatively 
unknown,  was  playing  a  bold  game.  This  courage, 


LES  PR£CIEUSES  RIDICULES 


107 


displayed  at  the  moment  when  it  was  necessary  to  secure 
his  precarious  hold  upon  the  public,  shows  that  talent 
for  aggressive  leadership  which  became  thenceforth  so 
dominant  a  feature  of  his  character.  In  this  discussion, 
however,  the  play  itself  is  being  overlooked.  The  story 
is  simple,  but  a  sufficient  framework  for  delicious  satire. 
A  word  upon  its  construction : 

Magdelon l  and  Cathos,  newly  come  to  Paris  from  the 
provinces,  are  respectively  daughter  and  niece  to  Gorgi- 
bus,  and  have  been  provided  by  that  worthy  bourgeois 
with  a  pair  of  honest  suitors,  called  La  Grange  and  Du 
Croisy.  Although  unacquainted  with  the  great  world  ex- 
cept through  Mile,  de  Scudery's  vapid  pages,  these  young 
ladies  assume  the  airs  and  graces  of  full-fledged  pr'ecieuses, 
and  scorn  their  admirers  for  having  the  effrontery  to 
propose  matrimony  point-blank,  instead  of  proceeding 
discreetly  in  accordance  with  precious  standards,  by  billets  \ 
doux,  petits  soins,  billets  galants,  et  jolis  vers. 

Enraged  at  being  jilted  by  such  upstarts,  La  Grange 
and  Du  Croisy  plan  a  cruel  revenge.  The  former  has  a 
valet  named  Mascarille,  who,  as  he  says,  cc  can  pass  in 
the  eyes  of  most  people  for  a  fine  wit  —  since  nothing 
is  cheaper  nowadays  than  cleverness " ;  so  this  fellow, 
dressed  in  extravagant  finery  and  bearing  the  grandilo- 
quent name  of  the  Marquis  de  Mascarille,  is  borne  by 
chairmen  into  the  very  house  of  these  imperious  country 
ladies,  there  to  pass  himself  off  as  a  wit  and  beau  of 
society.  Deceived  by  his  ribbons  and  his  ready  tongue, 
both  Magdelon  and  Cathos  fall  an  easy  prey  to  his  blan- 
dishments ;  and  flattered  by  the  attentions  of  one  so  influ- 
ential at  court  as  Mascarille  pretends  to  be,  they  consider 

1  This  is  the  spelling  of  the  earlier  editions  of  Molibre's  works,  the 
name  being  first  printed  as  Madelon  in  the  edition  of  1734. 


io8  MOLlfiRE 

their  social  fortunes  made.  To  abet  his  fellow-servant's 
knavery  and  complete  the  head-turning  of  the  ridiculous 
precieuseSy  Du  Croisy  fs  valet  presents  himself  as  the 
Vicomte  de  Jodelet,  un  brave  a  trois  foils  —  or  fashion- 
able fire-eater ;  but  at  the  moment  when  these  rascals  are 
celebrating  their  triumph  by  music  and  an  impromptu 
dance,  their  masters  appear  to  strip  the  foppish  doublets 
from  their  backs.  Before  the  humiliated  ladies  who  pre- 
ferred their  lackeys  to  themselves,  La  Grange  and  Du 
Croisy  give  the  pair  a  sound  beating ;  Mascarille,  robbed 
of  his  finery  and  sore  from  his  blows,  thus  bemoans  his 
fate  to  his  fellow  victim : 

Is  this  the  way  to  treat  a  marquess?  But  it  is  the 
way  of  the  world.  The  slightest  disgrace  makes  those 
who  petted  us  despise  us.  Come,  comrade,  let's  seek 
our  fortunes  elsewhere.  They  care  for  nothing  here  but 
vain  appearances  :  virtue  unadorned  has  no  consideration. 

Upon  this  canvas  Moliere  painted  a  caricature  of 
polite  society.  The  antics  of  preciosity  had  passed  all 
bounds  of  intelligence ;  so  his  subject  appealed  to  every 
sane  mind.  Even  though  his  pr'ecieuses  were  nobodies 
from  the  provinces,  and  his  alcoviste  a  masquerading 
servant,  the  shaft  went  home  because  its  aim  was  true. 
Magdelon  and  Cathos  languished  and  sighed  like  the  real 
precieuseSy  and  their  talk  was  just  as  maudlin.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  former's  protest  to  her  father  against  the 
boorish  love-making  of  La  Grange  and  Du  Croisy : 

My  cousin  will  tell  you,  father,  as  well  as  I,  that  mat- 
rimony ought  never  to  happen  till  after  other  adventures. 
A  lover,  to  be  agreeable,  must  know  how  to  express  fine 
sentiments  ;  to  breathe  soft,  tender,  and  passionate  vows  ; 
his  courtship,  too,  must  be  according  to  the  rules.  In  the 
first  place,  he  should  behold  the  fair  creature  with  whom 


LES   PRfeCIEUSES   RIDICULES         109 

he  falls  in  love  at  a  place  of  worship,  when  out  walking, 
or  at  some  public  ceremony ;  or  else  he  should  be  intro- 
duced to  her  by  a  relative  or  a  friend  —  as  if  by  chance ; 
and  when  he  leaves  her  presence,  he  should  appear  pen- 
sive and  downcast.  For  a  time  he  hides  his  passion 
from  the  object  of  his  admiration ;  but,  when  paying  her 
visits,  he  should  never  fail  to  present  some  question  of 
gallantry  to  be  discussed  by  all  the  wits  present.  When 
the  moment  of  his  declaration  arrives  —  which  usually 
should  be  contrived  in  some  shady  walk  with  the  com- 
pany at  a  distance — it  must  be  quickly  followed  by  anger, 
shown  by  our  blushing,  sufficient  to  banish  the  lover 
from  our  presence  for  a  time.  He  soon  finds  means, 
however,  to  appease  our  resentment  and  gradually  accus- 
tom us  to  his  tender  avowals,  as  well  as  to  draw  that 
confession  from  our  lips  which  causes  us  so  much  pain. 
Then  follow  vicissitudes  :  rivals  who  cross  the  path  of 
our  mutual  love,  parental  persecution,  unfounded  jeal- 
ousies, complaints,  despair,  abductions,  and  all  that  fol- 
lows. Thus  are  such  matters  arranged  in  fashionable 
society,  and  true  gallantry  cannot  dispense  with  these 
forms.  But  to  come  out  point-blank  with  a  proposal  of 
marriage  —  to  make  love  with  a  marriage  contract,  and 
begin  a  novel  at  the  wrong  end  !  Once  more,  father, 
nothing  could  be  more  tradesman-like,  and  the  mere 
thought  of  it  makes  me  sick  at  heart. 

Surely  there  are  many  foolish  girl  novel  readers  in  the 
twentieth  century  whose  conception  of  the  art  of  love- 
making  is  not  unlike  Magdelon's.  Indeed,  Moliere's 
characterisation  and  dialogue  display  such  a  modern 
quality  that  Les  Pr'ecieuses  ridicules  might  readily  be 
edited  so  as  to  become  a  skit  upon  the  cc  smart  set " 
of  Paris,  London,  or  New  York.  Take,  for  instance, 
this  bit  in  which  the  masquerading  servant  Mascarille 
impresses  the  country  pr'ecieuses  with  his  metropolitan 
airs: 


no  MOLIERE 

MASCARILLE 

Well,  ladies,  what  say  you  of  Paris  ? 
MAGDELON 

Alas,  what  can  we  say  ?  Not  to  confess  that  Paris  is  the  main 
office  of  wonders,  the  centre  of  good  manners,  taste,  and  wit,  one 
must  be  the  antipode  of  rational. 

MASCARILLE 

As  for  me,  I  maintain  that  outside  Paris  there  is  no  salvation 
for  right-minded  people. 

CATHOS 
A  truth  most  indisputable. 

MASCARILLE 
Of  course,  it  is  rather  muddy,  but  then  we  have  the  sedan. 

MAGDELON 

True ;  the  sedan  is  a  marvellous  curtailment  of  the  insults  of 
both  mud  and  inclement  weather. 

If  the  word  automobile  were  substituted  for  sedan  in 
the  foregoing,  it  would  be  difficult  to  believe  Mascarille 
was  not  a  present-day  valet  masquerading  as  un  homme  du 
dernier  chic.  Again,  when  he  is  calling  attention  to  his 
dress,  his  conceit  is  not  unlike  the  modern  French  dandy 
who  instead  of  ribbons  from  Perdrigeon's  wears  ties  from 

the  rue  de  la  Paix. 

MASCARILLE 

What  do  you  think  of  my  finery  ?  Is  it  in  keeping  with  my 
coat  ? 

CATHOS 
Perfectly ! 

MASCARILLE 
A  well  selected  ribbon,  eh  ? 

MAGDELON 
Tremendously  well  selected  —  real  Perdrigeon. 

MASCARILLE 
What  have  you  to  say  of  my  canons  ? 


LES   PR&CIEUSES   RIDICULES         in 

MAGDELON 
They  have  quite  an  air  ! 

MASCARILLE 
I  may  boast  that  they  are  a  quarter  wider  than  any  yet  made. 

CATHOS 

I  am  forced  to  confess  that  I  have  never  seen  exquisite  taste 
in  dress  carried  so  far. 

MASCARILLE 

Kindly  apply  to  these  gloves  the  reflection  of  your  sense  of 
smell. 

MAGDELON 
They  smell  terribly  well. 

CATHOS 
I  have  never  inhaled  a  more  delicate  scent. 

MASCARILLE 
{Presenting  his  curled  wig  to  be  smelt.)     And  this  ? 

MAGDELON 

It  is  perfect  in  quality  !  It  penetrates  charmingly  the  sub- 
limity of  one's  brain. 

MASCARILLE 

You  have  n't  said  anything  about  my  feathers.  How  do  you 
find  them  ? 

CATHOS 
Terribly  beautiful! 

MASCARILLE 

Do  you  know  that  each  sprig  cost  me  a  gold  louis  ;  but, 
above  all,  it  is  my  mania  to  wish  everything  of  the  very  best. 

MAGDELON 

1  assure  you,  we  have  tastes  in  common,  you  and  I ;  for  I  have 
a  frantic  delicacy  regarding  what  I  wear.  Even  to  my  stock- 
ings, I  can't  endure  anything  that  is  not  made  by  a  skilled 
workwoman.1 

1  The  ribbon  referred  to  by  Mascarille  was  the  favour  worn  upon  the 
shoulder  or  breast  of  his  doublet  —  an  article  brought  into  fashion  by 


ii2  MOLlfeRE 

By  substituting  "  tie "  for  ribbon  in  this  dialogue, 
" spats'*  for  canons,  and  "top-hat"  for  feathers,  Mas- 
carille's  language  might  readily  be  that  of  a  modern 
popinjay.  Indeed,  middle  class  young  ladies  who  ape 
society  manners  and  servants  who  fancy  themselves 
above  their  station  are  such  perennial  types  that  to 
this  day  Les  Prtcieuses  ridicules  never  fails  to  call  forth 
peals  of  laughter.  Imagine,  then,  the  sensation  it  cre- 
ated when  the  very  people  ridiculed  were  seated  in  the 
boxes  !  The  dialogue  between  the  false  marquess  and  his 
precious  dupes  might  have  passed  for  a  model  conversa- 
tion atone  of  Mile,  de  Scudery's  Saturdays  ;  flowery  love 
verse,  too,  received  its  coup  de  gr&ce  when  languishing 
Mascarille  composed  this  impromptu  quatrain  in  tribute 
to  Magdelon : 

Oh,  oh!  quite  careless  of  your  charm, 
My  heart,  without  a  thought  of  harm, 
Is  slyly  filched  by  glances  lief — 
Stop  thief,  stop  thief,  stop  thief,  stop  thief! 

Too  many  poets  had  indulged  in  superfine  expression 
of  the  tender  passion,  too  many  butterflies  of  society  had 
figured  in  the  role  of  alcoviste,  for  the  fashionable  play- 
goer not  to  appreciate  Moliere's  satire  even  though  it 
cut  to  the  quick.  Henceforth  a  precieuse —  whether 

Mazarin's  sumptuary  decree  of  1644,  prohibiting  the  use,  not  only  of 
point  lace,  but  gold,  silver,  and  copper  lace  (clinquant)  as  well.  Canons 
were  the  canions,  or  ruffles,  worn  at  the  end  of  the  baut  de  cbausses,  or 
loose  breeches,  just  where  they  joined  the  has  de  bottes,  or  boot-hose. 
At  the  time  of  Mascarille's  first  appearance  they  were  wide  rolls  of 
starched  linen  such  as  were  said  by  a  writer  of  the  period  to  so  resemble 
paper  lanterns  that  "  one  evening  a  laundress  of  the  royal  palace  made  use 
of  one  to  protect  her  candle  from  the  wind."  Mascarille's  feathers  were 
the  dozen  or  more  ostrich  plumes  which  ornamented  his  broad  felt  hat. 


X 

LES   PRECIEUSES   RIDICULES         113 

illustrious,  great,  or  small  —  could  not  fail  to  be  ridicu- 
lous as  well. 

The  simple  announcement  of  its  title  should  have 
been  sufficient  to  make  Moliere's  new  comedy  create  a 
flutter  in  society ;  but  the  author  evidently  did  not 
foresee  its  phenomenal  success,  else  he  would  not  have 
presented  it  as  a  mere  after-piece  to  tragedy.  The 
orateur,  too,  must  have  failed  lamentably  in  advertising 
its  sensational  merits ;  for  the  receipts  at  the  first  pro- 
duction were  but  five  hundred  and  thirty-three  livres ; 
while,  at  the  second,  with  the  prices  doubled,  fourteen 
hundred  were  realised.  Nevertheless,  many  distinguished 
people  were  present  at  the  first  performance ;  for  in 
Menagiana,  a  collection  of  the  sayings  and  criticisms  of 
Gilles  Menage,  published  shortly  after  that  writer's  death, 
we  learn  that  "  Mile,  de  Rambouillet  was  there,  together 
with  Mme.  de  Grignan,  M.  Chapelain,  and  the  entire 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet  set." 

The  Mme.  de  Grignan  here  mentioned  was  one  of 
Mme.  de  Rambouillet's  five  daughters.  Her  more 
celebrated  sister,  Julie,  had  married  the  Marquis  de 
Montausier  fourteen  years  previously,  while  her  three 
remaining  sisters  were  nuns ;  but  Mme.  de  Rambouillet 
herself  lived  only  a  few  doors  from  the  Hotel  du  Petit 
Bourbon,  and  though  past  seventy  was  far  from  being 
too  infirm  to  attend  an  afternoon  performance  of  a  play 
the  title  of  which  should  have  piqued  her  curiosity ;  so 
it  seems  far  more  likely  that  Mile,  is  a  proof-reader's 
error  for  Mme.,  than  that  Menage  or  his  editors  made 
the  extraordinary  mistake  of  calling  the  Marquise  de 
Montausier  Mile,  de  Rambouillet. 

Somaize,  the  historian   of  preciosity,  chronicles   that 


n4  MOLlfiRE 

after  the  first  production  of  Les  Prhieuses,  "  an  influen- 
tial alcoviste  interdicted  that  spectacle  for  several  days  ;  "  * 
but  Mme.  de  Rambouillet  was  a  woman  of  too  much 
sense  and  good  taste  to  have  incited  this  persecution. 
Barely  three  years  later  she  invited  Moliere  to  her  hotel 
—  a  proof  that  she  bore  him  little  malice;  and  if  she 
was  present  at  the  first  performance  of  his  satire  on  the 
foibles  of  her  silly  imitators,  one  is  tempted  to  believe 
she  shared  the  prescience  which  Menage's  admiring 
editors  impute  to  him : 

The  piece  was  received  with  general  applause,  and  I 
[Menage],  in  particular,  was  so  satisfied  with  it  that  I 
immediately  perceived  the  effect  it  would  produce.  On 
leaving  the  theatre,  I  took  M  Chapelain  by  the  hand 
and  said,  "  Monsieur,  you  and  I  have  approved  all  the 
stupidities  which  have  just  been  criticised  so  cleverly  and 
with  such  good  sense;  but,  believe  me  —  to  quote  what 
Saint-Remy  said  to  Clovis  —  *  We  must  burn  what  we 
have  adored,  and  adore  what  we  have  burnt.' ' 

Les  Precieuses  ridicules  sounded  the  death  knell  of 
affectation  on  the  stage  as  well  as  in  society.  Accus- 
tomed to  classic  tragedy  or  Italian  farce,  the  audience 
could  scarcely  believe  its  lifelike  characters  were  in  a  play. 
Their  very  names,  too,  were  those  of  the  actors  on  the 
stage :  Magdelon  was  Madeleine  Bejart ;  Cathos,  Cathe- 
rine de  Brie ; 2  La  Grange  and  Du  Croisy,  the  new 
recruits  of  that  name.  Jodelet,  the  lean  farine  from  the 
Theatre  du  Marais,  with  sombre  doublet  buttoned  to  his 
chin  in  the  style  of  the  old  court,  and  a  huge  false  beard 

1  Le  Grand  Dictionnaire  des  Precieuses. 

2  M.  A ime- Martin  arbitrarily  allots  the  role  of  Magdelon  to  Mile,  de 
Brie,  and  that  of  Cathos  to  Mile,  du  Pare ;  but  in  the  case  of  the  latter, 
he  is  manifestly  in  error,  as  she  was  not  a  member  of  the  company  at  the 
time. 


LES  PRECIEUSES  RIDICULES        115 

upon  his  whiteneH  face,  played  the  Vicomte  de  Jodelet ; 
while  Mascarille,  the  swaggering,  insolent,  masquerading 
valet  in  love  with  his  own  vanity,  was  Moliere  himself.1 
Mile,  des  Jardins  —  an  eye-witness  of  that  first  per- 
formance —  thus  describes  Moliere' s  droll  make-up : 

His  wig  was  so  huge  that  it  swept  the  stage  every 
time  he  bowed,  and  his  hat  so  small  that  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  that  the  marquess  carried  it  in  his  hand  more 
often  than  upon  his  head.  His  cravat  suggested  a 
seemly  dressing-gown ;  and  his  canons  seemed  made  for 
children  to  play  hide-and-seek  in.  .  .  .  A  bunch  of  tassels 
dangled  from  his  pocket  as  if  it  were  a  horn  of  plenty ; 
and  his  shoes  were  so  covered  with  ribbons  that  you 
could  not  tell  whether  they  were  Russia  leather,  English 
calf-skin,  or  Morocco ;  at  all  events,  I  know  they  were  at 
least  half  a  foot  in  height,  and  I  found  it  hard  to  under- 
stand how  heels  so  high  and  slender  could  carry  the 
weight  of  the  marquess,  his  ribbons,  canons,  and  powder.2 

I    The  success  of  the  play  was  instantaneous.     Accord- 

/ing  to  tradition,  an  old  man  in  the  audience  cried  out: 

(^Courage,  Moliere,  that  is  real  comedy  ! "  —  a  verdict 

upheld  by  posterity.     If  Moliere's  victory  was  complete, 

still  he  paid  the  customary  penalty  of  depreciation  and 

petty  annoyance.     His  piece  was  stolen  from  the  Abbe 

de  Pure,  said  jealous  rivals,  or  found  among  the  papers 

of  Guillot-Gorju  (a  dead  comedian  of  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 

gogne) ; 8  and  the  reader  already  knows  the  story  of  the 

1  Moliere  was  then  known  upon  the  stage  as  Mascarille  ;  for  Somaize, 
in  the  preface  of  his  comedy  Les  Veritable*  precieusesy  calls  the  author 
Mascarillet  and  dismisses  him  contemptuously  as  "one  whose  acting  has 
pleased  enough  people  for  him  to  be  sufficiently  vain  to  boast  of  being 
the  chief  farceur  of  France." 

a  Recit  en  prose  et  en  vers  de  la  farce  des  Precieuses. 

*  Le  Cercle  des  femmes  by  Chappuzeau  and  Jodelet  ou  le  Mattre  valet 


n6  MOLIERE 

official   persecution  which    resulted   in   the  loss  of  his 
theatre. 

He  made  more  than  one  attempt  to  mollify  the 
enraged  precieuses,  and  even  went  so  far,  in  1660,  as 
to  present  a  comedy  by  another  author  entitled  ^he 
True  and  the  False  Precieuse  (La  Vraye  et  fausse  pre- 
cieuse) ;  while  in  the  preface  to  his  own  play  he  is 
careful  to  say  that  — 

The  most  commendable  things  are  frequently  aped 
by  vulgar  monkeys  who  deserve  to  be  flouted ;  and  these 
vicious  imitations  of  the  best  have  in  all  ages  been  the 
subject  of  comedy  ...  so  the  genuine  precieuses  would 
be  wrong  to  take  offence  when  I  make  game  of  the 
ridiculous  people  who  imitate  them  so  badly. 

This  attempted  pacification  of  his  enemies  was  merely 
diplomacy.  "It  is  my  belief,"  he  said  at  a  later  day, 
"  that,  for  a  man  in  my  position,1  I  can  do  no  better  than 
attack  the  vices  of  my  time  with  ridiculous  likenesses." 
Les  Precieuses  ridicules  was  his  first  skirmish  in  this  war 
against  the  false.  In  subsequent  years  he  never  let  pass 
a  favourable  opportunity  to  marshal  his  mental  forces  in 
unremitting  hostility  to  the  hypocrites  and  formalists  of 
his  day  ;  for  Moliere,  the  poet  militant,  was  a  master 
strategist. 

In  Segraisiana,  a  miscellany  of  the  sayings  and  recol- 
lections of  Segrais,  the  poet,  published  in  1721,  Moliere 
is  reputed  to  have  said,  after  the  success  of  Les  Precieuses 
ridicules,  that  "  it  was  no  longer  necessary  for  him  to 

by  Scarron  are  plays  from  which  Moliere  may  have  culled  ideas  for  his 
comedy. 

1  This  statement  is  found  in  the  first  petition  Moliere  presented  to  the 
King  for  permission  to  play  Le  Tartujfe  in  public.  Dam  femploi  ou  je 
me  trouve  are  his  words,  and  they  are  held  by  commentators  to  refer  to 
his  position  as  comic  poet. 


LES  PRECIEUSES  RIDICULES        II? 

study  Plautus  and  Terence  or  pluck  from  the  fragments 

Menander.'     «,  need  study  only  society,"  w§aTh 
boast ;  but  as  ,t  „  recorded  over  half  a  century  after  the 
numph  which  called  it  forth,  one  is  tempted  Vdoub 
he  chronicler's  veracity.     Moliere  was  too  modest  eve 
o  have  played  the  role  of  fanfaron  ;  so,  like  the  story  of 

inter rtteTratherlT  ^'^  ^  SWagSering  sho^  be 

e  verdict  or  time  than  as  an  actual 
occurrence 

It  was  indeed  true  that  he  need  study  only  society. 
-^T^^jidicules,  as  has  been  stated  in  an  earlier 

oneCt'p^y  L     ts'e  Til  C°medy  ^  mannerS'     ^  a 
is  farcical   in  construction,  so  technically  it  must6^' 
cWd  with  the  poet's  light   buffooneries^  but  ln   th 
that  it  ,s  a  dramatic  picture  of  life,  this  trifline 

becomes  pure   comedy.     In   characterisation,  too! 
it  is    a   dramaf-ir   loM^t^^^u       TT  /- 


.m.tated  classic  or  Italian  models; 


his 
earnnb  at  the  outside  crust  of 

"»g,     began  to  wnte  what  he  termed  "essavs  " 
a  style  mtended  as  a  protest  against  the  stilted  Id  ar  " 

fican,t  of  th  Accord.      to  h.s  Qwn  .m 

he  wrote  a  httle  of  everything,  and  nothing 
-m  true  French  fashion";  but  he  took  a  fai? 

t  rt  view  of  life'  and  thr°^  *«  ^ 

truth    became    unconsciously    the    Dean    of 

ert    ,°ne   Ca"n0t  read    hi-  -thout   being 
with  the  modernness  of  his   point  of  view  ; 


n8  MOLlfiRE 

nor  can  one  see  Moliere  played  without  feeling  that, 
in  spite  of  their  ribbons,  canonsy  and  feathered  fans,  his 
characters  are  the  men  and  women  whom  we  meet  daily. 
Their  talk  is  quaint,  maybe,  but  their  ambitions,  foibles, 
and  philosophy  of  life  are  modern. 

Naturalness,  the  very  quality  that  distinguishes  Mon- 
taigne, constitutes  the  charm  of  Moliere's  work.  Our 
poet  knew  humanity  in  all  its  phases,  and  being  blessed 
with  the  courage  of  his  convictions,  he  too  wrote  in  pro- 
test against  the  stilted  and  artificial,  "in  true  French 
fashion."  Until  Les  Precieuses  ridicules  appeared,  he  was 
bound  by  Italian  fetters,  but  henceforth  he  was  stead- 
fast in  his  Gallic  loyalty.  If  at  moments  his  work  be- 
came objectively  Italian,  his  point  of  view  was  subjective, 
his  technic  French.  Truth  was  his  ideal ;  and  with  Les 
Precieuses  ridicules  as  foundation,  he  built  from  the  far- 
cical ruins  of  the  past  his  eternal  city,  —  a  Rome  to 
which  the  roads  of  modern  comedy  all  lead. 


THE   END   OF  APPRENTICESHIP     119 


VIII 
THE  END   OF  APPRENTICESHIP 

IN  Les  Pr'ecieuses  ridicules  transalpine  Mascarille  appears 
as  a  naturalised  Frenchman,  but  Moliere  was  verging  on 
forty  when  this  play  was  produced,  and  needed  a  vehicle 
less  sprightly  for  his  talent ;  so  Sganarelle  was  created  to 
supplant  his  predecessor.  A  homely  bourgeois,  through 
and  through,  with  all  the  prejudice,  thrift,  and  cunning 
of  his  class,  this  riper  character  bears  but  slight  relation 
to  Zanarello,  his  Italian  namesake.  Like  Shakespeare's 
Falstaff,  or  the  Sancho  of  Cervantes,  he  belongs  to  his 
creator.  If  from  time  to  time  he  savours  of  the  crea- 
tions of  Rabelais  or  Scarron,  it  is  only  because  he,  too, 
is  thoroughly  human. 

*fhe  Flying  Physician,  it  is  true,  contained  a  character 
of  that  name,  but  this  personage  was  merely  a  rogue 
with  the  attributes  of  Mascarille ;  the  real  Sganarelle  is 
first  met  with  in  the  one-act  rhymed  farce  bearing  his 
name.  Thereafter,  a  Frenchman  to  the  bone,  he  reappears 
in  The  School  for  Husbands  (UEcole  des  maris),  The  Forced 
Marriage  (Le  Manage  forc'e),  Don  Juan ;  or,  The  Feast 
of  Stone  (Don  Juan  ou  le  festin  de  pierre),  and  The  Doctor 
in  Spite  of  Himself. 

Sganarelle;  or,  The  Imaginary  Cuckold  (Sganarelle,  ou 
le  Cocu  imaginaire),  the  one-act  vehicle  of  his  first  real 
appearance,  is  replete  with  rapid  action ;  but  to  present 


120  MOLIERE 

the  plot  in  its  entirety  would  only  bewilder  the  reader. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  false  appearances  lead  jealous, 
self-sufficient,  bourgeois  Sganarelle  to  believe  his  wife  is 
faithless,  and  a  pair  of  guileless  lovers  each  to  regard 
the  other  as  the  cause  of  his  unhappiness,  in  a  way  so 
ingenious  and  plausible  that  the  reader's  sympathies  are 
commanded  to  a  degree  seldom  accorded  to  characters  so 
fatuous.  Written  wholly  in  a  spirit  of  raillery,  this  farce 
may  be  accepted  as  a  protest  against  the  insipid  romantic 
school,  —  a  resurrection  of  primitive  Gallic  wit.  It  is 
so  cleverly  constructed  that,  by  the  mere  substitution  of 
spirited  colloquial  prose  for  its  somewhat  antiquated  and 
often  ribald  verse,  it  might  serve  as  a  modern  "curtain 
raiser " ;  while  its  sentiments  are  so  far  from  being  ar- 
chaic that,  in  the  following  diatribe  against  husbands 
delivered  by  Sganarelle's  wife,  George  Meredith  may  be 
said  to  be  antedated  by  nearly  two  centuries  and  a  half 
in  his  plea  for  easy  divorce : 

To  be  a  marvel  for  a  day 

Is  but  a  husband's  usual  way  ; 

Love's  troth  he'll  plight  with  ardent  fire, 

But  of  caresses  soon  will  tire. 

Then  the  base  traitor  scorns  our  charms 

For  solace  in  another's  arms. 

Ah,  me!  if  woman  might  concert 

A  change  of  husbands  as  of  skirt. 

With  Les  Pr'ecieuses  ridicules  Moliere  planted  the 
standard  of  truth  upon  the  ramparts  of  the  false.  To 
renew  hostilities  against  the  privileged  classes  would  have 
been  bad  generalship,  so  he  used  the  broad  humour  of 
Sganarelle  to  make  his  enemies  forget  the  stinging  satire 
of  its  predecessor.  However,  he  did  not  escape  the 
usual  charge  of  plagiarism  :  Louis  Riccoboni  —  an  eigh- 


THE   END   OF   APPRENTICESHIP     121 

teenth  century  writer  who  denies  originality  to  all  but 
three  of  his  comedies  —  pronounces  Sganarelle  an  adap- 
tation of  an  Italian  farce,  called  The  Portrait ;  or,  Har- 
lequin Horned  by  Opinion  (II  Ritratto  ovvero  Arlechino 
cornuto  per  opinions)*  As  this  piece  is  first  known  to 
have  been  played  in  1716,  its  priority  should  be  estab- 
lished before  it  is  presented  as  Sganarelle's  original ;  for, 
to  quote  Monsieur  Louis  Moland,  "  The  assertions  of 
Riccoboni  and  the  wiseacres  who  have  followed  in  his 
footsteps  have  been  accepted  altogether  too  readily."2 
The  popular  success  of  Sganarelle  has  been  noted  in  an 
earlier  chapter;  it  is  only  necessary  to  add  that  of  all  its 
author's  plays  it  was  the  one  most  frequently  performed 
before  the  King. 

Returning  for  the  moment  to  events,  Moliere's  reno- 
vated theatre  in  the  Palais  Royal  was  opened  on  the 
twentieth  of  January ,ju6£i.  This  gave  him  a  playhouse 
of  his  own,  one  destined  to  be  his  theatrical  home  until 
his  death.  Although  he  shared  it  with  the  Italians 
when  they  returned  to  France,  they  were  the  tenants,  he 
the  landlord ;  the  regular  theatrical  days  belonged  to 

him.  This  new  theatre  was  opened  ^jth a , .dflu.b.te.-rbJH 

consisting  of  'The  Love  Tiff  and  Sganarelle;  but  a  piece 
was  already  in  rehearsal  which  Moliere  felt  would  estab- 
lish his  reputation  as  a  dramatist  of  the  first  order,  —  a 
belief  destined  to  be  rudely  shattered. 

At  the  time  of  the  King's  wedding  a  troupe  of 
Spanish  actors  had  been  received  with  considerable 
friendliness  by  the  Parisian  stage,  though  the  public  held 
aloof.  Their  advent,  however,  created  a  taste  for  the 
Spanish  drama  among  literary  people,  and  was  apparently 

1  Observations  sur  la  Com'edie  et  sur  le  genie  de  Moliere. 

2  (Euvres  completes  de  Moliere,  Vol.  II. 


122  MOLlfiRE 

not  without  effect  upon  Moliere ;  for  in  attempting  the 
one  serious  drama  of  his  career  he  chose  a  Spanish 
subject.  Don  Garcia  of  Navarre ;  ory  The  Jealous  Prince 
(Doih  Garde  de  Navarre  ou  le  Prince  jaloux) 1  was  the 
name  of  this  venturesome  effort.  It  was  presented  at 
the  Palais  Royal,  February  fourth,  1661,  proving  so 
lamentable  a  failure  that  only  seven  public  performances 
were  given. 

This  ill-fated  play  was  the  outcome  of  Moliere's  love 
for  tragedy,  —  a  futile  attempt  to  scale  dramatic  mountain 
tops.  His  experience  might  have  shown  him  that  truth 
is  the  straightest  path  to  the  highest  art ;  but  instead  of 
painting  human  nature  with  the  inimitable  touch  of  Les 
Precieuses  ridicules^  he  resorted  to  heroics,  and  composed 
a  tragi-comedy  or  reconciliation  drama  (Versohnungs- 
drama,  the  Germans  style  it),  which,  being  neither  tragedy 
nor  comedy,  fell  like  most  attempts  of  the  kind  between 
two  stools.  Jealousy,  made  ridiculous  in  Sganarelle,  be- 
came a  noble  passion  in  Don  Garcia;  but  Moliere's 
tedious  prince  is  too  suspicious  and  too  unreasonable  to 
be  sympathised  with ;  misunderstood  Elvire,  his  lady- 
love, far  too  exemplary  to  be  diverting;  so  this  drama 
of  exalted  jealousy  is  dull  to  a  degree,  and  moreover 
never  rises  to  a  tragic  climax.  The  story  of  its  failure 
can  be  no  more  tersely  told  than  by  Voltaire : 

Moliere  played  the  role  of  Don  Garcia;  and  this 
play  taught  him  that,  as  an  actor,  he  had  no  talent  for 
the  serious.  Both  the  drama  and  Moliere's  acting  were 
very  badly  received.  This  piece,  drawn  from  the  Span- 

1  In  the  seventeenth  century  the  Spanish  word  Don  was  written 
Dom  in  France,  —  a  word  nearer  the  Latin  Dominus  in  form,  and  still  in 
use  in  Portugal. 


THE   END   OF  APPRENTICESHIP     123 

ish,  has  never  been  presented  since  its  failure.  Moliere's 
budding  reputation  suffered  much  from  this  disgrace,  and 
his  enemies  triumphed  for  a  time.1 

Voltaire,  like  other  commentators,  arbitrarily  attributes 
Don)  Garcia  to  a  Spanish  source ;  but,  in  view  of  its 
resemblance  to  an  Italian  comedy  of  jealousy  by  Andrea 
Cicognini,3  it  would  seem  to  be  Spanish  only  in  subject. 
It  proved  a  failure  so  complete  that  La  Grange  disdained 
to  credit  its  authorship  to  his  chief;  yet  to  the  modern 
reader  it  is  not  devoid  of  charm.  Indeed,  when  judged 
with  regard  to  dreariness,  it  compares  so  favourably  with 
other  tragi-comedies  of  that  period  that  one  is  tempted  to 
agree  with  M.  Mesnard3  in  believing  that  its  failure  was 
in  some  measure  due  to  its  author's  acting  in  the  title- 
role, —  a  point  made  apparent  by  Mascarille's  contention 
in  Les  Precieuses  ridicules  that  "  the  great  comedians  are 
alone  capable  of  giving  things  their  true  value."  "  The 
others,"  that  rogue  continues,  "are  ignoramuses,  who 
recite  as  they  talk  and  don't  know  how  to  roar  their 
verses."  Now,  the  "great  comedians"  referred  to  by 
Mascarille  were  the  actors  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne ; 
"  the  others,"  Moliere's  own  company ;  so  if  the  poet 
recited  Don  Garcia  s  turgid  lines  in  natural  tones,  his 
performance,  howsoever  artistic  it  might  appear  to  us, 
must  have  been  distasteful  to  an  audience  accustomed 
to  actors  who  "roared"  their  verses. 

Still,  Moliere  did  not  lay  ponderous  Don  Garcia  of 
Navarre  aside  without  one  final  effort  to  demonstrate 
his  own  belief  in  it.  Six  months  subsequent  to  its  fail- 
ure he  played  it  before  the  King,  and  after  three  farther 

1  Vie  de  Moliere,  avec  des  jugements  sur  ses  ouvrages. 

2  Le  Gelosie  fortunate  del  principe  Rodrigo. 
8  Cluvrts  de  Moliere. 


i24  MOLIERE 

attempts  to  make  it  please  the  court  tried  it  once  more 
at  the  Palais  Royal ;  but  the  first  verdict  of  the  public 
stood  as  final.  He  accepted  this  universal  condemna- 
tion, then,  by  refusing  to  have  it  printed;  but  later 
made  use  of  certain  of  its  sentiments  and  verses  in  The 
Learned  Women,  Amphitryon,  and  'The  Hypocrite.  Fur- 
thermore, Don  Garcia  was  the  herald  of  a  masterpiece. 
After  its  author  had  himself  suffered  the  pangs  of  jeal- 
ousy and  learned  beyond  peradventure  that  truth  was 
the  road  and  comedy  the  vehicle  for  his  genius,  he 
wrote  'The  Misanthrope,  a  play  inspired  by  the  same 
ideals  as  its  sombre  predecessor,  but  resembling  it  little 
more  in  craftsmanship  than  a  masterful  statue  resembles 
a  tombstone. 

The  groping  period  of  outlines,  sketches,  and  coups 
d'essais  with  which  Moliere  experimented  on  the  public 
and  himself  ended  with  Don  Garcia  of  Navarre.  Realising 
his  limitations,  he  now  began  to  specialise  his  genius,  and 
utter  failure  never  crossed  his  path  again.  His  appren- 
ticeship terminated  at  the  very  moment  when  the  young 
King,  freed  from  tutelage,  began  to  rule.  Mazarin  died  at 
Vincennes,  March  ninth,  1661  ;  and  when  the  president 
of  the  assembly  of  the  clergy  asked  to  whom  he  should 
address  himself  in  future  upon  affairs  of  state,  Louis 
replied  :  "  To  me."  These  words  sounded  the  key-note 
of  a  new  era.  Henceforth  Moliere's  success,  like  all 
else  in  France,  was  dependent  on  the  monarch's  will. 

Before  his  death  the  crafty  cardinal  eased  his  con- 
science by  presenting  his  ill  gotten  wealth  to  the  King. 
Louis,  not  to  be  outdone,  gave  it  a  clear  title  by 
promptly  returning  it  as  a  gift  from  himself,  and  was 
requited  for  this  generosity  by  the  following  remarkable 
words :  "  Sire,  I  owe  your  Majesty  everything ;  but  I 


THE   END   OF  APPRENTICESHIP     125 

believe  I  can  pay  you,  in  a  great  degree,  by  giving  you 
Monsieur  Colbert."  This  great  man  was  then  a  subordi- 
nate of  Nicolas  Fouquet,  superintendent  of  the  finances, 
an  official  whose  business  methods  are  summed  up  in  his 
unabashed  reply  when  the  King  asked  for  pocket-money : 
"  Sire,  the  exchequer  is  empty,  but  his  Eminence,  the 
Cardinal,  will  lend  you  what  you  want." 

Upon  Mazarin's  death  Fouquet  became  the  man  of 
the  hour ;  yet,  like  many  a  financier  of  modern  times,  he 
rode  for  a  fall.  Gloomy  Colbert,  "  who  had  never  been 
taught  anything,  but  knew  everything,"  went  nightly  to 
the  King's  cabinet  with  proofs  of  his  chiefs  pilfering. 
While  his  downfall  was  thus  secretly  plotted,  the  vain- 
glorious superintendent,  unconscious  of  impending  dan- 
ger, planned  a  marvellous  fete  in  honour  of  his  young 
monarch,  —  a  fete  which  gave  our  poet  the  opportunity 
to  enhance  the  royal  favour  already  won ;  though,  for 
the  moment,  its  story  must  give  place  to  an  account  of 
the  play  which  retrieved  the  popularity  Don  Garcia  had 
lost. 

The  comedy  which  accomplished  this  is  called  The 
School  for  Husbands  (UEcole  des  marts],  —  a  piece  so 
amusing  in  conception,  strong  in  situation,  and  clever  in 
characterisation  that  Voltaire  credits  it  with  having  estab- 
lished Moliere's  reputation  for  ever ;  and  further  adds 
that,  "  had  he  written  but  this  one  play,  he  might  have 
passed  for  an  excellent  author  of  comedy." *  This  is 
not  hyperbolic  praise.  The  School  for  Husbands  fulfils  all 
the  demands  of  pure  comedy ;  moreover,  it  is  refined  in 
tone,  —  an  even  rarer  quality  in  its  day. 

Its  story  concerns  a  pair  of  brothers  having  the  guar- 
dianship of  two  sisters  whom  they  intend,  respectively,  to 

1   Vie  de  Moliere,  avec  des  jagements  sur  ses  ouvrages. 


ia6  MOLIERE 

marry.  Ariste,  the  elder,  gives  his  ward,  Leonor,  full 
confidence  and  every  liberty,  much  to  the  disgust  of 
Sganarelle,  the  younger,  who  jealously  keeps  her  sister, 
Isabelle,  in  strict  seclusion. 

"  I  find  that  one  must  win  a  woman's  heart  to  govern 
her,"  says  Ariste.  "  I  have  always  consented  to  Leonor's 
young  wishes.  .  .  .  Amusements,  balls,  and  comedies 
are  things  I  hold  quite  proper  in  forming  youthful  char- 
acter; and  since  one  must  breathe  its  air,  the  world, 
according  to  my  idea,  is  a  better  school  than  any  pedant's 
book." 

Ariste's  theory  of  education  has  made  little  headway 
in  France.  Sganarelle's  doctrine  that  a  young  girl 
should  "  close  her  ears  to  the  flattery  of  coxcombs  and 
never  walk  abroad  unattended,"  conforms  more  nearly 
with  the  customs  of  that  country;  but  Moliere  shows 
his  own  sympathy  with  Ariste's  enlightened  views  by  the 
ingenious  way  in  which  the  apparently  demure  and  docile 
Isabelle  out-manoeuvres  suspicious  Sganarelle  and  makes 
him  the  unwitting  go-between  for  her  lover,  Valere,  and 
herself.  So  cleverly  does  this  typical  jeune  file  play  her 
cards  that  her  poor  guardian  is  tricked  and  discomfited 
at  every  turn,  only  to  learn  that  he  has  been  the  in- 
advertent means  of  aiding  his  ward  to  marry  his  young 
rival  for  her  hand. 

In  this  denouement,  which  Voltaire  calls  "the  best  that 
Moliere  ever  contrived,"  Ariste's  theory  of  trust  and 
freedom  triumphs  unconditionally.  Indeed,  The  School 
for  Husbands  is  throughout  an  argument  in  behalf  of 
that  character's  philosophy  that  "  locks  and  bars  do  not 
make  the  virtue  of  our  wives  or  daughters."  Montaigne 
held  that  "it  would  be  more  fitting  to  see  the  class 
rooms  strewn  with  leaves  and  flowers  than  with  the 


THE  END   OF  APPRENTICESHIP     127 

blood-stained  stumps  of  birch  rods,"  and  in  The  School 
for  Husbands  Moliere,  too,  preaches  this  doctrine  of 
kindness  to  the  young.  The  world  is  just  beginning 
to  listen  to  the  wisdom  of  these  great  Frenchmen. 

Pure  comedy,  besides  painting  life  sincerely  and  lightly, 
should  tell  the  story  of  an  individual's  triumph  over 
the  complications  of  existence,  in  a  way  that  bears  no 
kinship  with  the  sorrow  of  tragedy  or  the  hilarity  of 
farce.  Verse,  although  not  essential,  adds  dignity,  and 
the  more  closely  the  three  oft  decried  unities  are  ob- 
served, the  better  organised  will  the  structure  be;  yet 
the  charm  of  comedy  depends,  above  all,  upon  the  skill 
with  which  both  character  and  situation  are  blended  in 
an  atmosphere  of  natural  mirth.  Judged  by  these  stand- 
ards, 'The  School  for  Husbands  is  the  first  pure  comedy 
fro m^  M Qliere^s  j>e n ;  and  if  the  embodiment  of  noble 
thoughts  and  emotions  in  a  musical  flow  of  words 
be  poetry,  he  rises,  by  means  of  Ariste's  high-minded 
stanzas,  to  the  dignity  of  a  true  poet. 

Structurally  it  is  admirable.  The  story  of  Isabelle's 
triumph  over  suspicious  Sganarelle  and  her  happy  union 
with  Valere  is  consistently  told  by  cleverly  probable 
situations ;  while  Ariste's  well  requited  love  for  Leonor 
forms  the  contrast  necessary  for  the  secondary  plot. 
Heretofore  the  classical  five  acts  of  the  ancients  had 
been  the  common  form  for  both  tragedy  and  comedy  ; 
by  using  three  only  in  his  School  for  Husbands,  Moliere 
adopted  a  construction  now  recognised  as  the  ideal  form 
for  the  latter. 

The  characterisation  of  this  comedy,  too,  deserves  all 
praise.  Two  persons  so  well  contrasted  as  liberal  minded 
Ariste  and  his  bigoted,  middle  class  brother,  Sganarelle, 
one  seldom  meets ;  while  in  Isabelle's  attendant,  Lisette, 


128  MOLIERE 

Moliere  introduces  the  confidential  servant,  whose  famil- 
iarity, cunning,  and  fidelity  he  finally  apotheosised  in  the 
Toinette  of  'The  Imaginary  Invalid,  —  the  archetype  of  all 
such  maids. 

Since  Terence,  Boccaccio,  and  possibly  Lope  de  Vega 
each  contributed  his  share  in  the  situations,  entire  origi- 
nality cannot  be  claimed  for  this  play ;  but  Moliere's 
plots  and  characters  were  derived  either  from  his  ex- 
tended knowledge  of  classical,  Italian,  French,  and  even 
Spanish  dramatic  literature,  his  keen  observation  of  the 
world,  or  the  experiences  of  his  own  life.  For  instance, 
The  Blunderer  was  the  result  of  research,  Les  Precieuses 
ridicules,  of  observation.  The  School  for  Husbands,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  a  subjective  play,  wherein  the 
author's  own  jealous  nature  found  vent  in  Sganarelle.  his 
ideals  expressing  themselves  in  Ariste's  liberal  philosophy. 
But  of  this  more  presently. 

Looked  at,  therefore,  from  every  point  of  view  except 
that  of  originality,  Voltaire's  judgment  is  correct.  Mo- 
liere's public,  too,  was  quick  to  recognise  the  charm  of 
his  new  comedy  ;  for  although  produced  at  the  end  of  the 
dull  month  of  June  it  attained  such  instantaneous  success 
that  within  a  fortnight  gossip  Loret  gave  it  this  doggerel 
tribute : 

The  School  for  Husbands,  you  should  know, 

Pleases  all  Paris  as  a  show. 

This  piece,  so  highly  prized  and  new, 

Of  Mr.  Molier  (sic)  is  the  due. 

Such  charm  and  fun  does  it  disclose 

That  off  to  Fontainebleau  he  goes, 

With  actors  skilled  to  entertain 

In  plays  both  classic  and  profane  ; 

There,  with  its  humour  unforeseen, 

To  bring  delight  to  King  and  Queen.1 

1  La  Muse  historique,  July  seventeenth,  1 66 1. 


THE   END   OF   APPRENTICESHIP     129 

The  words  "  King  and  Queen  "  refer  to  the  success  of 
The  School  for  Husbands  before  the  mighty. 

While  it  was  drawing  crowds  to  the  Palais  Royal, 
Fouquet  was  entertaining  lavishly  at  his  fool's  paradise 
of  Vaux-le-Vicomte,  not  far  from  Fontainebleau.  His 
guests  included  Monsieur  and  his  bride,  Henrietta  of 
England,  together  with  her  mother,  the  dowager  queen 
of  that  country ;  and  as  the  King's  brother  had  been 
married  only  three  months,  what  more  appropriate  for 
the  waning  days  of  a  honeymoon,  thought  the  superin- 
tendent, than  to  summon  Moliere's  comedians  to  present 
their  skit  upon  husbands  ?  They  came,  and  the  success 
of  the  new  play  at  Vaux  was  so  great  that  the  King  must 
needs  see  it  at  Fontainebleau. 

This  triumph,  however,  was  only  a  prelude  to  the 
part  Moliere  played  at  Fouquet's  downfall.  Versailles 
was  then  merely  a  square  palace  with  a  park  of  tangled 
undergrowth ;  St.  Germain  and  Fontainebleau,  mere 
hunting-boxes  —  put  to  shame  by  the  mosaic  floors, 
marbles,  paintings,  vases,  bas-reliefs,  parks,  cascades,  and 
fountains  of  Vaux-le-Vicomte.  Le  Vau  had  been  the 
architect,  Le  Brun  the  decorator,  and  Le  Notre  the 
landscape-gardener  of  the  superintendent's  marvellous 
country-seat;  his  maitre  £  hot  el  was  the  peerless  Vatel. 
To  show  the  handiwork  of  these  four  geniuses  to  the 
King  was  his  ambitious  dream  ;  and  as  Colbert  thought 
a  royal  visit  would  throw  the  superintendent  off  his 
guard,  the  entire  court  was  ordered  to  make  merry  at 
Fouquet's  expense. 

If  the  park  at  Vaux-le-Vicomte  was  a  hotbed  of 
conspiracy,  its  shaded  alleys,  Italian  gardens,  bowers, 
walks,  grottoes,  terraces,  and  esplanades  made  it  fairy- 
land as  well.  To  amuse  a  young  king  and  his  pleasure 


ijo  MOLIERE 

bent  court  between  the  amazing  repasts  devised  by  Vatel, 
there  were  games  of  skill  and  chance,  musicians,  dancing 
girls,  and  fireworks  ;  and  wherever  a  boscage  gave  shelter, 
baths,  tennis-courts,  swings,  chapels,  and  billiard-rooms. 
In  the  midst  of  lovers'  trysts  stood  dainty  booths  where 
fans,  gloves,  sweetmeats,  pastilles,  or  perfumes  were  dis- 
tributed to  the  guests ;  while,  to  cap  the  climax  of  this 
newly  rich  hospitality,  the  insatiate  gambler  found  upon 
his  dressing-table  a  well  filled  purse,  placed  there  by  his 
ostentatious  host.  But  instead  of  the  encomiums  poor 
Fouquet  looked  for,  came  cruel  rebuff. 

When  the  King  viewed  this  peculated  splendour,  he 
merely  said,  "  I  am  shocked  at  such  extravagance,"  while 
the  courtiers,  instead  of  being  overawed,  grew  envious. 
Blazoned  throughout  the  chateau  were  the  Fouquet  arms 

—  a  squirrel  pursued  by  a  snake  up  the  branch  of  a  tree 

—  and   beneath  was   the  motto,  "Quo  non  ascendam." 
The    King,    whose    knowledge    of    Latin    was    limited, 
asked    its  meaning,   and  jealous    favourites   were   quick 
to  interpret  it  as  "  Whither  wilt  thou  not  rise,"  point- 
ing at  the  same  time  to  the  serpent,  which  by  a  strange 
coincidence  was  a  charge  upon  the  arms  of  Colbert. 

His  Majesty  was,  indeed,  in  a  mood  to  wonder  whither 
the  squirrel  would  not  aspire  to  rise ;  for,  while  Colbert, 
the  serpent,  coiled  nearer  and  nearer  with  poison  in  his 
fangs,  Fouquet  made  a  roue's  bid  —  so  the  story  goes  — 
of  two  hundred  thousand  livres  for  the  charms  of  slender, 
blue-eyed  Louise  de  la  Valliere.  But  this  one  true  lady 
in  all  that  wanton  court  loved  the  handsome  young  King 
with  the  fervour  of  a  girl's  first  love,  and  told  him  of  the 
insult  in  a  flood  of  tears.  The  monarch  was  tempted 
to  transgress  the  laws  of  hospitality  then  and  there  by 
arresting  the  rake  who  had  robbed  him  and  tried  to 


THE    END    OF   APPRENTICESHIP     131 

debauch  his  sweetheart;  but  the  wiser  counsel  of  his 
mother,  Anne  of  Austria,  prevailing,  the  superintendent 
was  spared,  until  a  fortnight  later  a  time  more  opportune 
arrived  to  compass  his  downfall.1 

In  the  midst  of  these  plots  and  counterplots,  with 
their  setting  of  love  and  enchantment,  Moliere,  engaged 
by  Fouquet,  gave  a  comedy  in  an  open-air  theatre,  with 
interludes  of  music  and  dancing.  The  piece  thus  pre- 
sented was  The  Bores  (Les  Facheux\  a  skit  in  verse  upon 
court  life  written  to  order  in  a  fortnight. 

Nearly  two  years  had  elapsed  since  Les  Precieuses  ridi- 
cules had  startled  Paris;  meantime  Moliere  had  gathered 
courage  for  another  onslaught  on  the  follies  of  society. 
The  royal  visit  to  Vaux  gave  him  his  opportunity ;  but 
instead  of  masking  his  batteries  behind  middle  class 
ladies  from  the  provinces,  or  servants  disguised  as  gen- 
tlemen, he  made  a  bold  frontal  attack  upon  the  full 
strength  of  the  court.  To  no  man  could  the  folly  of  a 
courtier  be  more  apparent  than  to  the  King ;  so  the  poet 
aimed  his  satire  at  the  flatterers  and  dandies  swarming 
about  the  throne.  If  the  King  laughed,  what  mattered 
it  if  toadies  and  parasites  should  frown  ! 

Moliere's  new  play  was  to  be  the  climax  of  the  super- 
intendent's fete.  When  the  guests  had  gathered  in  a 
shaded  alley,  the  author,  without  make-up  or  theatrical 
costume,  appeared  alone ;  and,  apparently  dumfounded 
by  the  presence  of  the  King  and  so  many  courtiers,  made 
a  hasty  apology  for  being  without  the  actors  necessary  to 
give  a  play.2  This  was  merely  a  ruse  to  whet  curiosity, 

1  Memoires  de  Louis  XIV,  edition  de  Charles  Dreyss ;  Siecle  de  Louis 
XIV,  by  Voltaire  ;    The  Life  and  Times  of  Louis  XIV,  by  G.  P.  R. 
James ;  XV lime  necle,  by  Paul  Lacroix. 

2  Moliere's  Preface. 


0 


32  MOLIERE 

for  every  detail  had  been  looked  to  on  that  verdant 
stage.  The  scenery  was  flowers  and  giant  trees ;  star 
shine,  the  limelight ;  and  soon,  to  the  strains  of  the  royal 
violins,  a  nymph  appeared  in  a  shell  upon  the  waters  of 
a  fountain,  saying  she  came  to  that  entrancing  place  from 
her  grotto  deep  to  see  the  greatest  monarch  the  world 
had  ever  known. 

In  this  flattering  key  she  announced  that  the  sole 
purpose  of  the  hour  was  well  to  amuse  the  King ;  and  to 
honour  him  she  summoned  wood-nymphs,  fauns,  and 
satyrs  from  the  trees  and  thickets.  They  came,  dancing 
their  lissome  steps  to  the  music  of  hautboys,  to  the 
mournful  plash  of  fountains,  until  from  her  vantage- 
shell  she  called : 

Bores,  retire ;  or,  if  he  see  you  in  some  measure, 
It  must  be  solely  for  his  pleasure  ! l 

The  "  he  "  referred  to  was,  of  course,  the  King ;  and  this 
prologue  was  the  signal  for  the  play  —  if  play  it  can  be 
called.  The  Bores  was  more  of  a  conceit  than  a  comedy  ; 
a  series  of  sketches  from  the  author's  note-book  on  so- 
ciety, presented  with  delightful  ballet  interludes.  The 
glot  can  actually  be  put  in  a  nut-shell.  Eraste,  the  hero, 
has  a  rendezvous  with  his  lady-love,  Orphise,  which, 
during  three  brief  acts  in  sparkling  Alexandrine  verse,  a 
dull  lot  of  gentlemen  bores  prevent  him  from  keeping. 
One  by  one  they  waylay  him  and  insist  that  he  shall  listen 
to  pet  crotchets  or  settle  silly  quarrels.  One  has  an  air  of 
his  own  composition  to  hum  ;  another  a  new  dance  step 
to  show;  a  third  is  a  gamester  with  a  story  of  misfortune 
to  tell ;  two  more  have  a  sentimental  dispute  whether  or 

1  The  prologue  in  verse  was  written  by  Paul  Pellisson,  a  poet  in 
Fouquet's  service. 


The  Nymph  of  Vaux 


THE   END    OF   APPRENTICESHIP     133 

not  a  lover  ought  to  be  jealous;  and  the  distraught  hero 
is  compelled  to  listen  to  these  bores,  —  no  sooner  rid  of 
one  than  another  appears  with  some  new  maggot  in  the 
brain.  A  scene  of  real  action  finally  occurs  when  Damis, 
the  guardian  of  Orphise,  in  seeking  to  avenge  Eraste's 
clandestine  attentions  to  his  ward,  is  set  upon  in  the  dark, 
and  his  life  spared  by  the  hero  whom  he  sought  to 
destroy.  Damis's  anger  turns  to  gratitude,  and  Eraste 
and  Orphise  are  united,  thus  giving  this  delightful  con- 
ceit some  semblance  to  a  play. 

After  the  success  of  Les  Precieuses  ridicules,  Moliere, 
according  to  tradition,  was  so  dined  and  wined  by  cour- 
tiers who  wished  to  see  some  rival  travestied,  that  when 
he  received  Fouquet's  order  for  a  play  he  resolved  to 
write  a  skit  upon  the  very  fops  who  had  bored  him  with 
their  pet  ideas.  If  this  be  true,  The  Bores  was  certainly 
a  neat  revenge ;  for  there  was  hardly  a  parasite  at  court 
who  did  not  see  his  counterpart  flaunting  plumes  and 
ribbons  on  Fouquet's  woodland  stage.  In  serving  its 
purpose  "  well  to  amuse  the  King,"  it  was  a  masterpiece 
of  strategy  too ;  for  Louis  was  so  overjoyed  with  this 
caricature  of  his  courtiers  that  he  congratulated  the  poet 
personally,  and,  maliciously  pointing  to  the  Marquis  de 
Soyecourt,  his  grand  veneur,  or  Master  of  the  Stag 
Hounds,  said,  "  There  is  an  original  fellow  you  left 
out."  Moliere  took  the  hint,  and  ten  days  later  when 
The  Bores  was  repeated  at  Fontainebleau,  the  sports- 
man's part  of  Dorante  had  been  added.  His  hunting 
jargon  was  learned,  so  the  story  goes,  from  De  Soyecourt 
himself;  for  the  author,  knowing  nothing  of  the  chase, 
buttonholed  the  grand  veneur,  and  made  him  chatter 
about  his  favourite  sport  until  the  needed  details  were 
procured.1 

1  Me'nagiana. 


i34  MOLIERE 

j  From  that  hour  in  which  Moliere  made  him  laugh  at 
\  the  follies  of  his  own  courtiers,  Louis  never  failed  in  his 
protection.  Henceforth,  secure  in  the  royal  favour,  our 
poet  might  defy  his  enemies ;  so  The  Bores,  first  of  those 
plays  he  wrote  to  amuse  his  King,  proved  indeed  a  tri- 
umph. Although  it  must  be  classed  as  obsequious,  its 
Gallic  truth  was  so  apparent  that  it  won  for  him  an  even 
more  notable  partisan  than  Louis  the  Grand.  La  Fon- 
taine, the  fabulist,  was  a  pensioner  of  Fouquet,  and  after 
the  historic  fete  which  compassed  his  patron's  downfall 
he  wrote  a  versified  letter  to  a  friend,  acclaiming  Moliere 
greater  than  Terence,  and  crediting  him  with  having 
revolutionised  the  dramatic  art ;  for,  as  he  concludes, 

Full  altered  is  the  former  style, 
Chalked  Jodelet  's  no  more  worth  while  ; 
And  now  it  is  no  longer  art, 
One  step  from  nature  to  depart.1 

Thus  La  Fontaine,  after  Moliere  the  most  original 
genius  of  that  time,  recognised  his  rival's  worth  and 
proved  his  own  merit  as  a  critic.  That  very  quality  of 
never  departing  one  step  from  nature  is  the  charm  of 
Moliere.  Full  altered,  indeed,  was  the  former  style ! 

1  Lettre  a  Maucroix. 


ARMANDE   BEJART  135 


IX 

ARMANDE   BfijART 

THE  actress  who  recited  the  naiad's  prologue  to  The 
Bores  at  Vaux-le-Vicomte  was  Madeleine  Bejart,  then 
forty-three  years  old ;  and  the  thought  of  Moliere's 
faithful  comrade  trying  to  simulate  a  joyous  nymph  with 
her  time-worn  smile  is  rendered  even  more  pathetic  by 
the  knowledge  that  a  young  rival  was  soon  to  play  her 
role  of  heroine  in  the  poet's  life  as  well  as  in  his  come- 
dies. This  usurper  was  Armande  Bejart,  Madeleine's 
youngest  sister,  a  girl  of  "twenty  or  thereabouts/'  whom 
Moliere  married  on  Shrove  Monday,  1662. 

La  Bejart  must  have  known  the  prologue  she  was 
speaking  was  concerned  with  another  woman's  happiness  ; 
but  she  had  consolation  in  the  thought  that  her  sister's 
veering  nature  would  be  the  undoing  of  her  in  the  end. 
Standing  alone  on  the  shore,  she  heard  the  alluring  song 
and  saw  the  hidden  reef,  but  dared  not  cry  a  warning  to 
her  lover.  However,  the  story  of  Armande  the  siren 
must  give  temporary  place  to  a  consideration  of  Moliere's 
worldly  situation  at  the  time  of  his  marriage,  and  the 
reasons  which  led  him  to  that  act  of  folly. 

In  the  early  days  of  wandering,  both  Dufresne  and 
Madeleine  Bejart  shared  with  him  the  business  manage- 
ment of  the  troupe  ;  but  after  his  plays  had  won  Parisian 
success,  he  became  sole  director,  —  a  fact  demonstrated 
by  the  allotment  to  him  of  an  extra  share  of  the  receipts 


136  MOLI£RE 

as  author,  and  the  statement  made  by  La  Grange  on  the 
first  page  of  his  Register  that,  "  This  book  belongs  to 
the  Sieur  la  Grange,  one  of  the  comedians  of  the  troupe 
of  the  Sieur  de  Moliere." 

In  1 66 1  his  share  as  an  actor  was  doubled  in  order 
that  his  intended  bride  might  be  provided  for;  so  if 
his  yearly  income  at  the  time  of  his  marriage  had  not 
reached  the  enviable  sum  of  thirty  thousand  livres,1  with 
which  he  is  later  accredited  —  a  sum  equivalent  to  as 
many  dollars  —  it  was  rapidly  approaching  it.  He  had 
scrimped  too  much  during  the  days  of  ill  fortune  not 
to  gratify  his  tastes  when  the  coin  of  the  public  finally 
jingled  in  his  pockets ;  and  having  an  artist's  tempera- 
ment, he  could  no  more  avoid  spending  his  money  for 
good  fellowship  and  beautiful  things  than  he  could  avoid 
being  born  with  emotional  nerves.  Yet  he  did  not  live 
beyond  his  means,  and  took  good  care  to  guard  his 
interests  against  the  rainy  day  which  comes  to  nearly 
every  public  entertainer.  Although  he  enjoyed  luxury, 
and  was  reproached  by  his  enemies  for  indulging  in 
tapestries,  pictures,  and  other  objects  of  art,2  generosity 
was  his  cardinal  virtue.  "He  always  gave  to  the  poor 
with  delight,"  says  Grimarest,  "  while  his  charities  were 
never  of  the  ordinary  sort." 

Rich,  generous,  and  protected  by  his  King,  Moliere 
possessed,  at  the  time  of  that  memorable  performance 
of  'The  Bores  at  Vaux,  all  he  had  a  right  to  hope  for  in 
this  world,  except  domestic  happiness.  To  long  for 
relief  from  such  a  dearth  in  an  otherwise  well  rounded 
life  was  in  the  nature  of  the  man.  Bohemian  though  he 
was,  he  prided  himself  upon  his  respectable  birth,  never 

1  Vie  de  J.-B.  P.  Moliere  by  Louis  Moland. 

2  Le  Boulanger  de  Cbalussay :  Elomire  bypocondre. 


ARMANDE    BEJART  137 

letting  pass  an  opportunity  to  sign  himself  valet  de 
cbambre  du  Roi ;  while  his  plays  show,  time  and  again, 
that  domestic  happiness  was  his  ideal,  and  cuckoldom  his 
dread.  This  longing  for  a  fireside  was  natural  to  one 
of  his  antecedents ;  this  suspicion  of  the  other  sex,  the 
inevitable  result  of  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  loose 
morality.  But  the  society  of  frail  women  could  not 
pervert  his  bourgeois  nature  entirely.  Madeleine  Be- 
jart  having  lost  her  charm,  and  a  theatrical  life  its  nov- 
elty, Bohemia  became  his  place  of  daily  toil ;  home,  the 
Promised  Land. 

From  an  undated  letter  in  which  Chapelle,1  his  old 
schoolmate,  refers  to  a  certain  feminine  trinity,  many 
biographers  have  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that,  before 
his  marriage,  he  was  a  species  of  theatrical  sultan.  The 
trinity,  of  course,  was  Madeleine  Bejart,  Marquise 
Therese  du  Pare,  and  Catherine  de  Brie ;  and  because 
Chapelle  begs  Moliere  not  to  show  some  verses  to  his 
women  —  a  ses  femmes  are  his  words  —  a  charge  of 
polygamy  is  evolved  which,  in  view  of  the  loose  morals 
of  the  time,  it  is  impossible  entirely  to  disprove.  Never- 
theless, as  the  French  word  femme  means  woman  as  well 
as  wife,  the  three  ladies  in  question,  being  rival  actresses, 
may  have  been  referred  to  merely  in  the  sense  of  femmes 
de  theatre.  Chapelle's  letter  and  verses  certainly  present 
Moliere  and  his  trinity  in  a  theatrical  manner.  After 
humorously  ridiculing  his  friend's  troubles  and  describ- 
ing the  intrigues  of  Minerva,  Juno,  and  Venus,  together 
with  Jupiter's  failure  to  reconcile  these  contentious 
goddesses,  he  concludes : 

1  Published  in  1692  in  Vol.  V  of  the  Recueil  des  plus  belles  pieces  des 
poetes  fran$ois,  tant  anciens  que  modernes,  depuis  Villon  jusqu'a  M.  de 
Bens  trade. 


138  MOLIERE 

Such  is  the  tale ;  do  you  not  find 

That  any  man  of  sober  mind 

Must,  from  its  lesson,  quickly  see 

'  T  is  hard  to  make  three  dames  agree  ? 

Profit,  my  friend,  good  Homer  follow  ; 

Neutral  be,  and  know  'tis  hollow 

Ever  a  project  to  conceive, 

A  god  so  great  could  not  achieve. 

According  to  Arsene  Houssaye,1  "Juno  was  Made- 
leine Bejart,  who  wished  no  one  to  approach  Moliere ; 
Minerva,  the  beautiful  Du  Pare  on  her  marble  pedestal, 
and  Venus,  blond,  voluptuous  De  Brie,  a  mellow  peach, 
a  ray  of  light,  a  sweetheart  unexpected."  Still  there  is 
nothing  in  Chapelle's  lines  to  indicate  that  this  likening 
of  Moliere,  a  stage  autocrat,  to  Jove,  and  his  trinity  of 
stars  to  quarrelsome  goddesses,  was  anything  more  than 
an  attempt  to  lampoon  his  friend's  theatrical  trials.  The 
Mecca  of  every  actress  is  the  centre  of  the  stage ;  ca- 
jolery, flattery,  and  even  love-making  are  managerial 
wiles.  As  our  poet,  in  his  triple  role  of  author,  man- 
ager, and  comedian,  had  only  a  single  stage  to  satisfy 
the  aspirations  of  three  leading  ladies,  it  is  quite  con- 
ceivable that  his  troubles  differed  greatly  from  those  of  a 
Padisha. 

Whatsoever  the  truth  of  this  may  be,  he  knew  that 
any  young  bourgeoise  transplanted  from  her  kitchen- 
garden  to  his  theatrical  hothouse  would  either  wither  or 
prove  a  hybrid ;  yet  to  inspire  a  child  of  Vagabondia 
with  his  longing  for  a  hearthside  seemed  within  the 
range  of  possibility.  Believing  his  knowledge  of  the 
world  would  enable  him  to  mould  a  wife  according  to 
his  own  ideals,  he  chose  for  his  experiment  a  young  girl 
1  Les  Comediennes  de  Moliere. 


ARMANDE    BEJART  139 

whom  he  had  known  from  childhood,  and  so  confident 
was  he  of  success  that  in  The  School  for  Husbands,  pro- 
duced but  a  few  months  before  his  marriage,  he  put  into 
the  mouth  of  Ariste  this  sermon  on  the  duties  of  a 
guardian  toward  the  ward  he  intends  to  marry : 

We  must  instruct  the  young  good-naturedly, 

Their  many  faults  correct  with  kind  intent, 

And  never  frighten  them  with  virtue's  name. 

These  maxims  I  have  followed  with  Leonor  : 

I  have  not  called  all  petty  freedom  crime  ; 

Her  youthful  wishes  I  've  considered,  too  : 

The  gods  be  praised,  I  've  not  repented  yet  ! 

With  my  consent,  she  has  indulged  in  balls, 

Amusements,  plays,  and  fine  society  : 

Things  which  appeal  to  me  as  suitable 

In  broadening  the  youthful  character ; 

For,  since  we  breathe  its  air,  the  world  must  be 

A  better  school  than  any  pedant's  book. 

What  matters  it  if  pretty  ribbons,  clothes, 

And  linens  fine  she  buys  ?     My  purpose  is 

To  gratify  her  whims  ;  and  these  are  still 

The  pleasures  all  rich  folk  should  give  their  daughters. 

Her  father's  testament  would  have  us  wed, 

But  my  design  is  not  to  tyrannise. 

I  know  our  years  are  scarcely  in  accord, 

And  therefore  give  her  choice  the  fullest  range. 

If  forty  thousand  ecus  should  succeed 

In  making  her  overlook  divergent  years, 

She '11  marry  me  ;  if  not,  she 's  free  to  choose  ... 

Resolved  upon  marrying  a  girl  barely  twenty,  Moliere 
gave  this  doctrine  to  sensible  Ariste,  while  acting  the 
part  of  jealous  Sganarelle.  If  the  former  represents  the 
ideality,  the  latter  is  far  nearer  the  reality  of  his  nature. 
His  betrothed  hoodwinked  him  as  completely  as  the 
Isabelle  of  his  play  duped  her  jealous  guardian ;  for  in 


i4o  MOLIliRE 

the  apt  words  of  a  commentator,  "  Love's  blindness 
made  him  believe  that  he,  a  serious,  jealous,  and  passion- 
ate husband  of  forty,  would  be  able  to  captivate  and 
control  a  young  wife." 

The  youth  of  Armande  Bejart  is  shrouded  in  obscurity. 
According  to  the  anonymous  author  of  The  Famous  Co- 
medienne, "she  passed  the  tender  years  of  childhood  in 
Languedoc  with  a  lady  of  quality,"  and  it  has  been 
hinted  that  this  foster-mother  lived  at  Nimes.  From 
facts  so  hazy,  the  truth  can  only  be  sketched.  All  the 
elder  Bejarts  were  strolling  players,  and  as  Marie  Herve, 
their  mother,  travelled  with  them,  Armande  probably 
lived  at  a  baby  farm  in  Languedoc  until  old  enough  to 
join  her  family.  Sharing  her  sister's  passion  for  the 
stage,  she  became  a  member  of  the  company  at  last,  and 
seeing  in  the  manager  a  means  to  her  own  advancement, 
used  her  wiles  to  win  him.  He  meantime,  watching 
her  grow  to  womanhood,  took  pleasure  in  training  her 
mind.  At  first  her  girlish  graces  and  natural  intelligence 
merely  excited  his  interest ;  but  as  her  charms  matured 
this  sentiment  assumed  the  character  of  passion. 

Though  this  story  has,  at  least,  the  ring  of  truth,  the 
parentage  of  the  clever  girl  who  thus  beguiled  Moliere 
into  matrimony  is  a  mystery  which  may  never  reach 
solution ;  for  the  statement  that  she  was  "  Madeleine 
Bejart's  youngest  sister,"  made  on  a  previous  page,  was 
but  a  throw  of  the  gauntlet  to  her  traducers.  M.  Edouard 
Fournier  says  : 

On  a  day  of  uncertain  date,  in  a  place  no  better  known, 
since  it  is  impossible  to  say  whether  it  was  Guyenne, 
Languedoc,  or  Provence,  a  girl  was  baptised  with  the 

1  Histotre  de  la  vie  et  des  ouvrages  de  Moliere  by  J.  Taschereau. 


ARMANDE    BEJART  141 

name  of  Armande  Gresinde  Claire  Elisabeth.     She  was 
born  in  the  Bejart  family.      Who  was  her  mother?1 

Were  it  not  for  slander,  the  answer  to  M.  Four- 
nier's  question  would  be  Marie  Herve ;  for,  in  re- 
nouncing the  inheritance  of  her  husband's  debts  on  the 
tenth  of  June,  1643,  ^is  woman  named,  in  addition  to 
her  four  elder  children,  "  a  little  one  not  yet  baptised  "  ; 
furthermore,  the  marriage  contract  signed  by  Moliere 
and  Armande  Bejart  on  January  twenty-third  and  the 
marriage  act  entered  in  the  parish  register  of  the  church 
of  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois,  February  twentieth,  1662, 
both  state  distinctly  that  the  bride  was  the  daughter  of 
Marie  Herve  and  her  husband,  the  defunct  Joseph 
Bejart ;  so  the  logical  supposition  is  that  Armande  was 
this  unbaptised  little  one.2 

Alas,  calumny  has  done  its  utmost  to  controvert  the 
truth  of  this,  the  most  reasonable  of  all  theories  regard- 
ing Armande's  parentage  !  For  instance,  our  old  friend, 
the  anonymous  author  of  The  Famous  Comedienne  y  in- 
sists that  "  Moliere' s  wife  was  the  child  of  Madeleine 
Bejart,  a  country  actress,  who  was  the  pastime  of  a  num- 
ber of  young  men  of  Languedoc  at  the  fortunate  time  of 
her  daughter's  birth,"  and  further  adds  that  "it  would 
be  difficult  to  tell  exactly  who  her  father  was ;  for, 
although  Moliere  married  her,  she  was  believed  to  be 
his  daughter." 

1  Le  Roman  de  Moliere. 

2  The  marriage  act  was  discovered  by  L.-F.  Befrara,  and  published 
in   1821   in  his  Dissertation  sur  J.-B.  Poquelin  Moliere.     The  marriage 
contract  was  first  published  in   1863  by  M.  Eudore  Soulie  (Recbercbes 
stir  Moliere}.     To  these  two  archaeologists  and  M.  A.  Jal  (Documents 
sur  Moliere  et  safamillet  1867)  is  due  the  preservation  in  text  of  inval- 
uable documents  concerning  Moliere,  many  of  the  originals  of  which 
were  destroyed  by  the  Communists  in  1871. 


i42  MOLIERE 

Even  this  vilifier  admits  that  "  the  truth  of  this  is  not 
fully  known,"  and  his  (or  her)  base  insinuations  would 
have  gained  no  credence  had  not  Racine  in  a  letter  to 
the  Abbe  le  Vasseur  stated  that  a  jealous  actor  named 
Montfleury  was  so  enraged  by  Moliere's  ridicule  that  he 
sought  to  undermine  him  at  court.  "  Montfleury  has 
drawn  up  a  charge  against  Moliere,"  are  Racine's  words, 
"and  has  presented  it  to  the  King.  He  accuses  him 
of  having  married  the  daughter  after  having  loved  the 
mother,"  and  adds,  "  but  Montfleury  is  not  listened  to 
at  court."  Boileau,  too,  is  quoted  as  having  said  that 
Moliere's  first  love  was  Madeleine  Bejart,  "whose 
daughter  he  married," l  and  Grimarest,  writing  from 
hearsay,  maintains  that  Armande  was  the  daughter  of 
La  Bejart,  "who  preferred  being  Moliere's  mistress  to 
being  his  mother-in-law." 

Boulanger  de  Chalussay  repeats  the  calumny  of  'The 
Famous  Comedienne  in  words  which  will  not  bear  trans- 
lation ;  but  an  intendant  of  the  King's  brother,  named 
Guichard,  who  attempted  to  discredit  the  testimony  of 
Moliere's  widow  in  a  suit  at  law  by  calling  her  "  the 
daughter  of  her  husband  and  wife  of  her  father,"  was 
condemned  to  make  honourable  apology  with  bared 
head  and  bended  knee;  so  it  is  evident  that  the  charge 
of  incest,  at  least,  was  incapable  of  proof;  and  this  is  the 
view  of  all  Moliere's  biographers.  The  majority,  how- 
ever, accept  the  theory  of  Armande's  illegitimacy.  Even 
when  Beffara  unearthed  the  marriage  act  wherein  she 
appears  as  Marie  Herve's  daughter,  M.  A.  Bazin2  was 
equal  to  the  occasion.  Because  "  it  was  necessary  to 

1  MS.  Notes  of  Brossette  in  the  Blbliottoque  nationale.     Notice  blo- 
grapbique  sur  Moliere  by  Paul  Mesnard. 
8  Notes  bistoriques  sur  la  vie  de  Moliere. 


ARMANDE    BEJART  143 

offer  Moliere's  father  and  brother-in-law  a  daughter  and 
sister  for  whom  they  need  not  blush  too  deeply,"  he 
argues  that  "  the  widow  of  Bejart,  senior,  consented  to 
declare  herself  the  mother,  and  her  late  husband  the 
father,  of  the  child  born  in  1645  (sic)" 

To  accuse  a  man  able  to  brighten  rather  than  tarnish 
his  family  name,  together  with  all  his  wife's  relatives,  of 
forgery  for  the  mere  purpose  of  appeasing  a  father's 
pride,  seems  preposterous  enough ;  but  M.  Edouard 
Fournier1  plays  even  greater  havoc  with  probability 
by  imputing  the  supposed  falsification  to  Madeleine's 
anxiety  to  hide  the  birth  of  her  child  from  the  Baron  de 
Modene.  If  she  could  convince  him  of  her  fidelity, 
urges  this  writer,  he  would  honour  her  with  his  hand 
in  marriage. 

Modene  being  married  already,  Madeleine  could 
scarcely  expect  he  would  resort  to  uxoricide,  or  even 
bigamy,  for  her  sake ;  and  the  contention  of  M.  Jules 
Loiseleur2  seems  equally  hazy.  After  admitting  that 
Armande  Bejart's  age  of  "  twenty  or  thereabouts,"  re- 
corded in  the  marriage  contract,  coincides  with  that  of 
the  "  little  one  not  yet  baptised,"  this  writer  considers 
the  maternity  of  Marie  Herve  —  a  woman  supposedly 
fifty -three  at  the  time  of  her  husband's  death  —  wholly 
preposterous. 

Marie  Herve's  death  certificate  does  give  her  age  as 
eighty ;  but  the  witnesses  were  her  son-in-law  and 
youngest  son  —  of  all  her  family  the  least  likely  to  be 
familiar  with  the  date  of  her  birth,  whereas  the  Abbe 
Dufour3  cites  good  evidence  to  show  that,  on  the  tomb 

1  Le  Roman  de  Mo  Here. 

2  Les  Points  obseurs  de  la  vie  de  Moliere* 
8  Le  Molierhte,  May,  1883. 


i44  MOLIERE 

Madeleine  erected  to  her  mother's  memory,  the  following 
epitaph  was  inscribed : 

Here  lies  the  body  of  Marie  Herve,  widow  of  the  honourable 
man,  Joseph  Bejart,  deceased  the  ninth  of  January,  1670,  aged 
seventy-five.1 

It  is  highly  improbable  that  Madeleine  inscribed  a 
lie  upon  her  mother's  tomb ;  so,  instead  of  being  fifty- 
three  at  the  time  of  Armande's  birth,  Marie  Herve  was 
barely  forty-eight.  Her  fecundity,  though  unusual,  was 
wholly  within  the  range  of  possibility. 

An  explanation  of  the  supposed  falsification  of  court 
records  more  reasonable  than  any  yet  advanced  is  that 
Marie  Herve's  assumption  of  parentage  was  for  the  pur- 
pose of  deceiving  Moliere  himself.  That  Madeleine 
should  wish  to  hide  her  shame  from  a  stage  struck 

D 

youth  until  she  had  succeeded  in  alienating  him  from 
his  family,  is  certainly  conceivable ;  and  were  this  the 
case,  to  oppose  her  daughter's  marriage  with  her  former 
lover  would  have  been  her  most  natural  course.  Accord- 
ing to  Grimarest,  this  is  precisely  what  happened : 

La  Bejart  suspected  his  intentions  toward  Armande, 
and  often  threatened  violence  to  Moliere,  her  daughter, 
and  herself  should  he  dare  dream  of  this  marriage. 
However,  this  passion  of  a  mother,  who  tormented  her 
continually  and  made  her  endure  all  the  vexations  she 
could  invent,  did  not  suit  the  young  girl.  Feeling  she 
would  rather  try  the  pleasures  of  being  a  wife  than  sup- 
port the  displeasure  of  her  mother,  this  young  person 
decided  one  morning  to  burst  into  Moliere's  apartment, 

1  M.  Gustave  Larroumet,  writing  in  the  Molieriste  of  October,  1886, 
calls  attention  to  an  error  of  the  Abbe  Dufour,  —  Marie  Herve's  age 
being  given  as  sevetity-tbree,  not  seventy-Jjve,  in  this  epitaph. 


Armancle  Bejart  and  Moliere 


t 


ARMANDE   BEJART  145 

firmly  resolved  not  to  leave  until  he  had  recognised  her 
as  his  wife.  This  he  was  forced  to  do ;  but  the  outcome 
caused  a  terrible  hubbub :  the  mother  showed  as  much 
sign  of  rage  and  despair  as  if  Moliere  had  married  her 
rival,  or  her  daughter  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a 
blackguard. 

If  the  poet  was  kept  in  ignorance  of  his  wife's  true 
parentage,  Madeleine's  attitude,  here  described,  becomes 
most  reasonable ;  but  there  is  danger  that  this  new 
theory  may  arouse  still  another  hornet's  nest.  Indeed, 
opposed  to  Grimarest's  testimony  is  that  of  the  author 
of  The  Famous  Comedienne,  who  assures  us  that  — 

Madeleine  prepared  and  concluded  the  marriage  by  a 
series  of  patient  and  tortuous  intrigues,  her  object  being 
to  recover,  through  Armande,  the  influence  over  Moliere 
of  which  Mile,  de  Brie  had  deprived  her. 

An  elaborate  chain  of  documentary  evidence,  covering 
a  period  longer  than  thirty  years,  points  to  Armande 
Bej  art's  legitimacy.  Besides  the  marriage  contract  and 
the  marriage  act  already  mentioned,  a  power  of  attorney 
given  by  the  heirs  of  Marie  Herve  to  Madeleine  Bejart ; 
Madeleine's  will ;  a  power  of  attorney  from  Moliere  to 
his  wife  ;  the  marriage  contract  between  Genevieve  Bejart 
and  J.  B.  Aubry  ;  the  plea  of  Armande  to  the  archbishop 
of  Paris  for  permission  to  inter  Moliere ;  an  income 
settlement  by  the  heirs  of  Madeleine  Bejart;  a  contract 
between  Moliere's  widow  and  the  wardens  of  the  church 
of  St.  Paul ;  the  letters  ratifying  this  contract ;  and  the 
marriage  contract  between  J.  F.  Guerin  and  Armande 
Bejart  herself,  —  all  present  Moliere's  wife  most  un- 
equivocally as  being  Marie  Herve's  daughter. 

Madeleine's  will  is  a  document  containing  particularly 


10 


146  MOLIERE 

strong  testimony  in  favour  of  Armande's  legitimacy ;  for 
La  Bejart  was  of  sound  mind  when  she  drew  her  last 
testament  (January  ninth,  1672),  and  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that,  had  Armande  been  her  daughter,  she  would 
have  sworn  to  a  lie  upon  her  death-bed.  Moreover,  the 
codicil  to  this  will,  drawn  but  three  days  before  Made- 
leine's death,  is  further  evidence  that,  were  Armande 
her  daughter,  she  was  facing  death  with  this  lie  upon 
her  lips. 

Such  evidence  would  certainly  be  sufficient  to  close 
the  case,  did  not  the  testimony  of  Montfleury  and  Boi- 
leau  remain  in  rebuttal.  But  the  defender  of  Moliere's 
character  has  a  seventeenth-century  witness,  too,  —  the 
King,  —  to  whom  the  infamous  charge  was  made.  Un- 
doubtedly there  was  much  verisimilitude  in  Montfleury 's 
contention.  After  thirteen  years  of  absence  Madeleine, 
known  to  have  borne  one  illegitimate  child,  returned  to 
Paris  accompanied  by  Armande  Bejart,  corresponding 
very  nearly  in  age  with  her  daughter,  Fran9oise,  bap- 
tised in  1638  ;  and,  by  drawing  the  conclusion  that  the 
two  were  the  same,  Moliere  might,  with  much  semblance 
to  truth,  be  accused  of  "  having  married  the  daughter 
after  having  loved  the  mother."  First,  to  convince 
his  monarch  of  the  falsity  of  this  charge,  then  to  re- 
main silent  in  the  face  of  slander,  would  have  been  his 
most  dignified  course;  and  the  King's  conduct  is  evi- 
dence that  such  was  the  case.  Louis .  became  the  god- 
father of  Moliere's  first  child.1  In  no  other  way  could 

1  Louis,  Moliere's  eldest  son,  born  January  nineteenth,  baptised  Feb- 
ruary twenty-eighth,  died  November  tenth,  1664.  Moliere  had  two 
other  children,  Esprit  Madeleine  (who  alone  survived  him),  baptised 
August  fourth,  1665,  and  Pierre  Jean  Baptiste,  born  September  fifteenth, 
baptised  October  first,  died  October  tenth,  1672. 


ARMANDE    BEJART  147 

he  more  effectually  give  the  lie  to  all  the  slanders  of 
Montfleury. 

La  Grange  records  that  "the  wedding  [manage]  of 
M.  de  Moliere  took  place  after  a  performance  at  Mon- 
sieur d'Equeuilly's,"  or,  in  other  words,  at  night,  —  a 
time  when  the  churches  were  deserted.  As  but  one  ban, 
instead  of  the  habitual  three,  was  published,  it  is  argued 
that  in  order  to  hide  the  base  origin  of  the  bride  the 
ceremony  was  clandestine.  La  Grange's  entry,  however, 
was  made  on  Tuesday,  February  fourteenth,  while  pre- 
viously he  says  that  "  M.  de  Moliere  married  Armande 
Claire  Elisabeth  Gresinde  Bejard  (sic)  on  Shrove  Tues- 
day, 1662."  Shrove  Tuesday  fell  upon  February 
twenty-first,  and  the  parish  register  of  the  church  of  St. 
Germain  TAuxerrois  gives  Monday,  February  twentieth, 
as  the  date  of  the  religious  ceremony,  which  M.  Jal,  a 
most  careful  archaeologist,  maintains  took  place  in  the 
morning.  The  suppression  of  the  bans  being  purely  a 
question  of  a  fee,  with  that  fact  the  argument  of  secrecy 
vanishes. 

As  only  kinsfolk  witnessed  the  marriage  contract,  the 
wedding  itself  was,  in  all  probability,  a  family  affair ;  and 
if  the  word  mariage  in  La  Grange's  Register  was  used  in 
the  sense  of  noce,  the  entertainment  after  the  performance 
at  Monsieur  d'Equeuilly's  was  probably  some  prenuptial 
affair  in  honour  of  the  groom's  theatrical  comrades.  So 
far  as  La  Grange  is  concerned,  this  was  the  "  wedding  of 
M.  de  Moliere  "  ;  consequently  his  confusion  of  Monday 
with  Tuesday  in  recording  a  ceremony  he  did  not  attend 
becomes  a  trivial  error. 

A  cash  dowry  of  ten  thousand  livres,  given  Armande 
by  Marie  Herve,  is  still  another  bone  of  contention. 
Where,  it  is  argued,  could  a  widow  who  inherited  nothing 


148  MOLIERE 

but  debts  have  obtained  such  a  sum,  especially  as  Gene- 
vieve  Bejart  received  but  four  thousand  livres,  mostly  in 
chattels,  at  the  time  of  her  marriage ;  and  since  Made- 
leine favoured  Moliere's  daughter  in  her  will,  she  must 
have  given  the  dowry,  too,  and  was  therefore  Armande's 
mother.  It  is  equally  apparent  that  Moliere  might  have 
used  Marie  Herve  as  a  means  of  presenting  his  wife 
with  an  independent  fortune ;  so  the  affair  of  the  dowry 
might  be  dismissed  entirely,  were  it  not  for  the  baptismal 
certificate  of  Moliere's  second  child.  This  infant  was 
christened  Esprit-Magdeleyne  (sic)  —  a  union  of  La 
Bejart's  name  with  that  of  her  first  protector,  the 
Baron  Esprit  Remond  de  Modene ;  and,  moreover,  that 
very  nobleman  stood  sponsor  with  Madeleine  at  the 
ceremony. 

If  this  pair  of  ci-devant  lovers  were  the  child's  grand- 
parents, this  joint  sponsorship  becomes  comprehensible ; 
indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  find  any  other  explanation.  Of 
all  the  evidence  cited  by  Armande's  traducers,  this  is 
certainly  the  most  damning,  yet  it  is  purely  circumstantial, 
be  it  remembered.  It  is  still  possible  to  believe  that 
Madeleine  and  Modene,  having  reached  the  age  when 
passion's  fires  were  only  smouldering  embers,  thus  offi- 
ciated together  in  order  to  keep  alive  the  memory  of 
their  own  dead  child.  "  On  revient  toujours  a  ses 
premiers  amours,"  is  the  French  proverb.  Shall  it  not 
be  applied  in  this  instance? 

Perhaps,  as  M.  Loiseleur  says,  "  A  veil  no  hand 
will  ever  raise  hides  the  origin  of  the  young  woman 
whom  Moliere  married  on  the  twentieth  of  February, 
I662";1  but  no  amount  of  surmise  or  slander  can 
completely  break  that  chain  of  documentary  evidence 
1  Les  Points  obscurs  de  la  vie  de  Moliere. 


ARMANDE    BEJART  149. 

beginning  with  Marie  Herve's  renunciation  of  her  hus- 
band's inheritance  in  the  name  of  the  "  little  one  not 
yet  baptised,"  and  ending  with  Armande  Bejart's  second 
marriage  contract.  If  Armande  was  not  Marie  Herve's 
daughter,  then  Moliere,  his  wife,  and  all  her  family  must 
be  classed  together  as  forgers ;  and  he,  the  greatest 
literary  genius  in  France,  the  friend  of  the  King,  be 
accused  either  of  the  most  abject  of  crimes,  or  of  an 
utter  disregard  of  common  decency.  His  philosophy 
was  certainly  too  pure,  his  ideals  too  exalted,  for  him 
to  have  been  the  vile  man  his  enemies  and  unwitting  J 
friends  portray. 

A  more  agreeable  mystery  concerns  the  identity  of  the 
young  person  to  whom  Chapelle,  in  the  undated  letter 
already  quoted,1  referred  to  in  an  injunction  regarding 
some  sentimental  verses  which  accompanied  his  Olym- 
pian satire.  "  You  will  show  these  beautiful  verses  only 
to  Mile.  Menou"  he  says  to  Moliere,  "  for  they  are  the 
description  of  you  and  her." 

Chapelle,  of  course,  may  have  made  mention  of  some 
unknown  enchantress ;  still  it  is  more  reasonable  to  pre- 
sume that  Menou  was  the  stage  name  of  Armande  Bejart 
before  she  was  known  as  Mile,  de  Moliere.  At  a  time 
(1653)  when  Moliere's  wife  was  only  ten,  the  part  of 
Ephyra  in  Corneille's  Andromeda  was  allotted  to  a  Mile. 
Menou;2  yet  a  nereid  with  four  lines  to  speak  might 
readily  have  been  played  by  a  child.  Although  M. 
Baluffe3  unearths  a  distant  connexion  of  Chapelle's 
named  Mathieu  de  Menou  who  possibly  had  a  daugh- 
ter, it  is  far  more  likely  that  Chapelle's  injunction  re- 
ferred to  Armande  Bejart.  His  letter  was  probably 
written  (1659)  at  a  moment  when  Moliere's  love  for  his 

1  See  page  137.  2  See  page  47.  8  Moliere  inconnu. 


150  MOLIERE 

ward  was  turning  his  thoughts  toward  matrimony ;  so  an 
affair  with  another  young  person  was  an  unlikely  occur- 
rence, and  there  is  no  record  of  any  actress  of  the 
name  Menou  having  appeared  in  Paris  ;  so  the  Ephyra 
of  Andromeda  as  well  as  the  lady  of  the  verses  was,  in  all 
probability,  Armande  Bejart. 

The  date  of  this  lady's  Parisian  debut  is  another 
unsolved  mystery.  La  Grange,  silent  regarding  her  ad- 
vent, mentions  her  as  a  member  of  the  company  in  June, 
1662;  but  the  first  role  she  is  known  with  certainty  to 
have  filled  is  that  of  Elise  in  'The  Criticism  of  The  School 
for  Wives  (La  Critique  de  VEcole  des  femmes}. 

About  her  character  and  appearance  no  such  doubt 
exists.  A  verbal  portrait,  attributed  to  Mile.  Poisson,1 
says  that  "  she  had  a  mediocre  figure ;  but  her  manner 
was  engaging,  although  her  eyes  were  small,  and  her 
mouth  large  and  flat.  She  did  everything  well,  however, 
even  to  the  smallest  things,  although  she  dressed  most 
extraordinarily,  in  a  manner  always  opposed  to  the 
fashion  of  the  times."  "  She  was  full  of  charm  and 
talent,"  says  M.  Genin,2"and  sang  French  and  Italian 
delightfully.  Being  an  excellent  actress  who  knew  how 
to  take  the  stage  even  when  only  playing  the  listener, 
she  was  an  incorrigible  flirt  as  well,  and  the  despair  of 
Moliere,  who  loved  her  distractedly  to  his  dying  day." 
Her  bitter  enemy,  the  author  of  The  Famous  Comedienne ', 
while  denying  her  beautiful  features,  is  forced  to  admit 
that  "  her  appearance  and  manners  rendered  her  ex- 
tremely amiable  in  the  opinion  of  many  people,"  and 
that  she  was  "  very  affecting  when  she  wished  to  please." 

1  Lettre  sur  la  vie  et  Jes  ouvrages  de  Moltere.     See  note,  page  8 1 . 

2  Lexique  compare  de  la  langue  de  Moliere  et  des  ecrivains  du  XV11* 
siecle. 


ARMANDE   BEJART  151 

"  No  one,"  according  to  the  Brothers  Parfaict,1  "  knew 
better  than  she  how  to  heighten  the  beauty  of  her  face  by 
the  arrangement  of  her  hair,  or  of  her  figure  by  the  cut 
of  her  costume  " ;  while  a  writer  in  the  Mercure  galant 
(1673)  bears  out  Mile.  Poisson's  testimony  regarding  the 
eccentricity  of  her  dress  by  ascribing  to  Armande  Bejart 
a  radical  reform  in  the  fashion  of  the  day,  whereby  the 
waist  line,  heretofore  concealed,  "was  made  to  appear 
more  beautiful." 

Perhaps  the  best  description  of  his  wife's  charms  and 
his  own  feelings  regarding  her  is  given  by  Moliere  him- 
self. In  a  scene  of  The  Burgher,  a  Gentleman ,  Cleonte, 
a  lover,  and  Covielle,  his  valet,  discuss  Lucile,  the 
character  played  by  Armande  Bejart  in  the  following 
manner : 

COVIELLE 

You  might  find  a  hundred  girls  more  worthy  of  you.  In  the 
first  place,  she  has  small  eyes. 

CLEONTE 

True,  she  has  small  eyes,  but  they  are  full  of  fire  and  the 
most  brilliant,  the  most  piercing,  the  most  sympathetic  eyes  it  is 
possible  to  find. 

COVIELLE 
She  has  a  large  mouth. 

CLEONTE 

Yes,  but  one  finds  there  charms  one  does  not  find  in  other 
mouths.  The  very  sight  of  that  mouth  is  enough  to  create 
desire :  it  is  the  loveliest,  the  most  lovable  mouth  in  the 
world. 

COVIELLE 

As  for  her  figure,  she  is  not  tall. 

1  Histoire  du  theatre  fr  an  $ai*. 


152  MOLIERE 

CLEONTE 
No,  but  she  is  graceful  and  well  made. 

COVIELLE 
She  affects  indifference  in  speech  and  manner. 

CLEONTE 

Quite  true ;  but  it  is  all  delightful,  and  I  can't  describe  the 
charming  way  in  which  she  ingratiates  herself  into  people's 
hearts. 

COVIELLE 
As  for  her  wit  — 

CLEONTE 

Ah !  that  she  has,  Covielle  —  the  keenest  and  the  most 
delicate. 

COVIELLE 

Her  conversation  — 

CLEONTE 
Her  conversation  is  charming. 

COVIELLE 
It  is  always  serious. 

CLEONTE 

Do  you  want  bubbling  mirth  and  unrestrained  hilarity  ?  Is 
there  anything  more  tiresome  than  women  who  laugh  at 
everything  ? 

COVIELLE 

Well,  at  least,  she  is  the  most  capricious  person  in  the  world. 

CLEONTE 

Yes,  she  is  capricious,  I  quite  agree ;  but  everything  becomes 
beautiful  women.  One  suffers  everything  from  beautiful 
women. 

None  knew  better  than  Moliere  the  meaning  of  those 
words,  "  One  suffers  everything  from  beautiful  women." 


ARMANDE   BEJART  153 

It  was  the  key-note  of  his  married  life.  No  man  has 
written  his  heart  more  truly  than  he :  sometimes  in  a 
lamentation  like  the  above ;  sometimes  in  a  prophecy,  as 
when,  in  Don  Garcia  of  Navarre,  he  wrote : 

No  marriage  could  join  us ;  I  hate  too  well 
Bonds  that  for  both  must  prove  a  living  hell. 

Moliere's  marriage  was,  if  not  a  hell,  certainly  a  purga- 
tory ;  yet  how  could  a  union  between  a  man  of  forty  with 
emotional  nerves,  and  a  young,  frivolous  girl  who  lived 
for  admiration  and  flattery,  prove  different  ? 

The  summer  following  the  wedding  was  passed  at  St. 
Germain.  Doubtless  before  the  honeymoon  had  waned, 
Armande  began  to  show  her  leopard  spots.  Having 
taken  the  centre  of  the  stage  from  her  three  rivals,  to 
waste  her  charms  upon  so  humdrum  a  thing  as  a 
husband  was  not  in  her  nature ;  and  being  in  the  region 
of  fine  gentlemen,  there  were  means  at  hand  to  practise 
the  arts  so  aptly  described  by  M.  Fournier: 

By  means  of  her  airs  and  graces,  her  nonchalance, 
and  her  bewitching  glances,  Armande  took  in  only  too 
many  people  and  listened  to  too  many  of  the  exalted 
rakes  who  haunt  court  antechambers  in  the  morning  and 
theatres  in  the  evening,  merely  to  boast  of  their  con- 
quests to  the  entire  town.  Our  poet  soon  learned  that 
the  lot  of  Sganarelle  was  to  be  his  own,  and  that  the 
dying  Scarron  had  predicted  truly,  in  1660,  when  he 
bequeathed,  in  his  burlesque  will :  "  To  Moliere, 
cuckoldom." 

The  reader  may  think  he  got  his  deserts  ;  but  love  is 
not  a  thing  to  be  calendared,  nor  are  great  natures  likely 
to  prove  the  most  discerning.  Though  open  to  the 

1  Le  Roman  de  Moliere. 


154  MOLIERE 

charge  of  fickleness,  Moliere  need  only  be  compared 
with  Shakespeare,  Byron,  or  Shelley,  to  be  acquitted  of 
any  crime  more  serious  than  that  of  being  a  genius ;  for 
no  man  is  able  to  think  the  thoughts  of  all  mankind 
until  his  hand  has  touched  all  human  chords.  He 
loved  without  the  church's  benediction  in  his  youth, 
and  with  a  hapless  marriage  paid  the  penalty.  Blame 
him,  if  you  like ;  yet  when  the  young  blood  sings  in  a 
pretty  woman's  veins,  even  a  stronger  man  than  a  genius 
will  listen. 

A  word  of  justice,  too,  for  Madeleine  Bejart,  that 
nymph  of  forty-three,  who  spoke  the  prologue  to  her 
heartless  sister's  happiness.  Four  years  Moliere's  senior, 
her  love  for  him  was  almost  maternal ;  and  throughout 
her  life  she  bore  upon  her  shoulders  those  material 
cares  so  irksome  to  a  man  of  genius.  He  would  doubt- 
less have  written  his  masterpieces  without  her  inspira- 
tion and  help  ;  but,  as  M.  Loiseleur  truly  says,  "He 
would  not  have  written  them  so  soon,  nor  so  rapidly, 
nor  would  they  have  sparkled  so  delightfully  with  wit, 
spirit,  and  liberality." 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  155 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES   AND   ITS 
COROLLARIES 

SCARAMOUCHE  was  now  tenant  instead  of  landlord,  and 
the  troupe  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  rapidly  losing 
prestige ;  for  in  May^i662,  Moliere's  players  were 
commanded  by  the  King  to  St.  Germain-en-Laye,  while 
their  rivals  were  left  without  the  royal  pale. 

The  court  was  dangerous  ground  for  a  bride  of 
Armande  Bejart's  temperament;  but  her  husband  had 
proclaimed  that  "  locks  and  bars  do  not  make  the  virtue 
of  our  wives  or  daughters/'  so  in  taking  her  to  this 
region  of  "balls,  amusements,  plays,  and  fine  society," 
he  merely  practised  his  own  doctrines.  Though  the 
world  might  be  "a  better  school  than  any  pedant's 
book  "  for  the  Leo  nor  of  his  School  for  Husbands  ^  he  was 
soon  to  learn  that  for  a  young  woman  as  vain  as  his  wife 
it  was  merely  a  playground. 

The  sojourn  at  St.  Germain  was  well  requited  from 
the  privy  purse,  but  the  famous  tournament  in  honour 
of  the  dauphin's  birth  which  gave  the  court  between  the 
Louvre  and  Tuileries  the  name  of  "  Place  du  Carrousel  " 
proved  a  dangerous  competitor.  The  pavilions,  cos- 
tumes, booths,  and  tilt-yards  for  this  pageant  cost  the 
King  a  million  or  more ;  but  so  valiantly  did  his  cour- 
tiers cut  the  Turk's  head  —  it  might  have  been  some 
fire-spitting  dragon  —  that  he  got  his  regal  money's 


156  MOLIERE 

worth  ;  the  more  so  when  he  caracoled  before  the  noblest 
Romans  of  his  court  in  a  glittering  international  quad- 
rille, wherein  Monsieur  led  Persian  warriors  ;  the  great 
Conde,  fierce  turbaned  Turks  ;  the  Due  d'  Enghien,  a 
band  of  rajahs,  and  De  Guise,  a  tribe  of  whooping 
savages. 

No  comedy  could  vie  with  such  a  spectacle,  so  Moliere 
closed  his  theatre  on  the  tournament  days  (June  5-6) ; 
but  Louis  soon  made  amends  by  again  summoning  him 
to  St.  Germain,  where  he  remained  six  weeks  and  re- 
ceived a  honorarium  of  fourteen  thousand  livres.  This 
caused  La  Grange  to  remark  that  "  the  King  believed 
there  were  but  fourteen  parts,  while  the  troupe  was  of 
fifteen";  but  two  actors  from  the  Theatre  du  Marais 
had  lately  joined  the  company,  so  his  Majesty's  mistake 
seems  pardonable. 

The  new-comers  were  La  Thorilliere  and  De  Brecourt, 
comedians  with  the  common  characteristic  of  being  medi- 
ocre play-wrights,  but  of  very  different  parts ;  since  the 
former,  though  at  one  time  a  captain  of  infantry,  was  a 
genial,  peaceable  fellow,  while  the  latter  was  a  veritable 
bretteur  who  once  fled  the  country  for  killing  a  cabman, 
—  a  crime  the  reader  familiar  with  the  Parisian  genus 
will  be  likely  to  condone.1 

1  Cleopatra,  a  tragedy  by  La  Thorilliere,  was  played  by  Moliere' s 
troupe,  December  second,  1667;  De  Brecourt's  comedy,  The  Great 
Booby  of  a  Son  as  Foolish  as  bis  Father  (Le  grand  benet  de  fls  aussi  sot 
que  son  pirt},  is  attributed  by  the  Brothers  Parfaict,  in  their  Histoire  du 
theatre  fran$ais,  to  Moliere  himself,  and  consequently  has  been  often 
cited  among  the  lost  one-act  canevas  of  his  barn-storming  days.  On 
January  seventeenth,  1664,  however  (a  fact  unknown  to  the  Brothers 
Parfaict),  La  Grange  chronicles  the  first  performance  of  this  play  as  a 
"new  piece  of  M.  de  Brecourt,"  and  on  February  first,  third,  and 
fifth  of  that  same  year,  states  that  it  was  the  only  comedy  presented  at 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  157 

After  the  six  weeks  spent  at  St.  Germain,  La  Grange 
records  that  "  the  queen-mother  summoned  the  come- 
dians of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  who  had  begged  her 
to  procure  them  the  favour  of  serving  the  King  —  the 
troupe  of  Moliere  having  made  them  most  envious." 
However,  as  these  rivals  had  a  royal  subvention  of 
twelve  thousand  livres  and  his  own  players  but  an  unpaid 
pension,  Moliere  could  not  permit  even  court  grass  to 
grow  under  his  feet ;  so  before  his  honeymoon  had  waned 
a  new  play  was  put  upon  the  stocks.  His  own  marriage 
being  still  paramount  in  his  mind,  he  again  chose  the 
theme  of  a  jealous  guardian's  love  for  a  girl  of  "  twenty 
or  thereabouts,"  but  his  new  school  was,  in  name  at 
least,  for  wives  instead  of  husbands. 

The  School  for  Husbands  contained  two  brothers  of 
diverging  views  bent  upon  marrying  wards  of  differing 
character;  in  The  School  for  Wives  (UEcole  des  femmes),  its 
companion  piece,  benign  Ariste  and  high-minded  Leonor 
are  eliminated.  Sganarelle,  too,  becomes  a  pedantic 
moralist  named  Arnolphe ;  but  so  similar  is  this  charac- 
ter in  disposition  to1  his  predecessor  that  one  wonders  at 
the  change  of  name.  Sganarelle's  theory  of  preserving 
marital  honour  by  keeping  a  wife  behind  closed  doors 
gives  place,  however,  to  the  belief  that  ignorance  is  a 
woman's  safeguard,  —  a  doctrine  which  forms  the  motive 
of  the  play. 

The  opening  scene  strikes  the  key-note,  for  at  the 
very  outset  Arnolphe, "a  railer  o'er  the  cuckold's  horns 
of  others,"  announces  that  he  will  prevent  their  appear- 

the  Palais  Royal ;  so  it  could  not  have  been  a  one-act  piece,  nor  could 
it  have  been  written  by  Moliere.  Another  piece  by  De  Brecourt,  The 
Shade  of  Moliere  (L?  Ombre  de  Moliere  y  1674),  nas  ^een  several  times 
printed  as  an  after-piece  to  the  poet's  works. 


158  MOLlfiRE 

ance  on  his  own  head  by  wedding  a  fool.  When  the 
soundness  of  this  principle  is  doubted  by  his  sceptical 
friend,  Chrysalde,  he  defends  it  warmly  in  the  following 
tirade  against  clever  women : 

I  wed  a  fool  lest  I  become  a  fool  : 

Your  better  half  is  wise,  I  hold  as  any 

Christian  ;  and  yet  the  cleverest  wives  are  signs 

Of  evil,  and  I  know  the  price  that  some 

Must  pay  for  choosing  those  who  're  far  too  bright. 

What  !  charge  myself  with  some  o'er  brilliant  jade 

Who  '11  talk  unceasingly  of  routs  and  clubs, 

Or  write  soft  sentiments  in  prose  and  verse 

For  swarming  wits  and  dandies  to  admire  ! 

And  have  me  known,  forsooth,  as  madam's  mate,  — 

A  saint  benighted  none  will  reverence  ? 

No,  no  !  I  wish  no  goodly  wit  in  mine  : 

A  wife  who  writes  knows  more  than  woman  should, 

And  mine,  I  hold,  shall  know  not  what  it  is 

To  rhyme ;  and  if  at  cor  billon  she  plays, 

I  wish  her  to  reply, "Just  one  cream  tart," 

When  in  her  turn  she  's  asked  just  what  it  is 

She  '11  offer  to  the  basket.1      Well,  in  brief, 

I  wish  her  to  be  ignorant ;  and  hold 

It  is  enough  that  she  should  tell  the  truth, 

And  loving  me,  sew,  spin,  and  say  her  prayers. 

For  his  experiment  Arnolphe  has  chosen  Agnes,  a  girl 
he  loved  at  the  age  of  four  "  above  all  other  children" 
because  of  her  "  sweet,  sedate  manner."  Believing  her 
to  be  the  daughter  of  a  peasant  woman  "  glad  to  be  rid 
of  her,"  he  has  educated  her  to  be  his  wife  in  a  manner 
best  explained  in  his  own  words  : 

1  Corbillon,  meaning  literally  "  a  little  basket,"  was  a  fashionable 
game  of  the  period,  similar  to  crambo,  wherein  a  player  was  obliged  to 
reply,  by  a  word  rhyming  in  on  to  the  question  Que  met-on  dam  man 
cor  billon  ? 


THE   SCHOOL  FOR  WIVES  159 

From  turmoil  far,  within  a  convent's  quiet, 

They  reared  her  closely,  following  my  views  — 

One  way  of  saying  that  each  rule  laid  down 

Was  meant  to  make  an  idiot  of  her. 

Wherefore,  may  God  be  praised  !  success  has  crowned 

My  work  ;  and  now,  full-grown,  she  has  become 

So  innocent,  I  bless  the  saints  who  showed 

Me  how  to  mould  a  wife  unto  my  taste. 

Upon  the  completion  of  this  education  in  nescience, 
Agnes  is  confided  to  the  care  of  two  venal  servants,  who, 
in  spite  of  assurances  that  the  "  sparrow  shall  not  go  out 
for  fear  of  the  cat,"  permit  a  fair-haired  gallant  to  bribe 
his  way  into  the  cage.  When  the  play  begins,  Arnolphe 
is  unaware  of  this  intrigue ;  and  in  order  to  conceal  the 
identity  of  his  pompous  hero  from  the  disturber  of 
his  happiness,  Moliere  employs  a  dramatic  expedient 
unworthy  his  craftsmanship,  introduced  in  the  shape  of 
an  inordinately  snobbish  desire  on  Arnolphe's  part  to  be 
called  Monsieur  de  la  Souche  (literally  Mr.  Blockhead), 
—  an  affectation  made  light  of  by  Chrysalde  in  the  retort 
that  he  "  once  knew  a  peasant  who  dug  a  muddy  ditch 
around  his  quarter  acre  and  thereafter  called  himself 
Monsieur  de  1'Isle."  l 

Having  thus  set  forth  his  matrimonial  doctrines  and 
distaste  for  his  patronymic  in  the  opening  scene,  Ar- 
nolphe immediately  reassures  himself  of  the  dutifulness 
and  safety  of  his  beloved  Agnes,  and  soon  thereafter 
meets  his  rival  face  to  face.  Discovering  that  this  young 

1  This  incident  has  given  rise  to  considerable  controversy  whether 
Chrysalde*  s  retort  was  not  intended  to  ridicule  the  name,  Corneille  de 
PIsle,  by  which  Thomas  Corneille,  the  mediocre  brother  of  the  great 
poet,  was  then  known.  A  contemporary  writer,  the  Abbe  d'Aubignac 
(1663),  first  called  attention  to  this  apparent  satire  of  a  rival. 


160  MOLIERE 

spark,  Horace  by  name,  is  the  son  of  his  bosom  friend 
Oronte,  he  lends  him  a  hundred  pistoles  to  abet  a  love 
affair  ;  whereupon  the  grateful  youth,  unaware,  of  course, 
that  Monsieur  de  la  Souche,  the  "rich  old  fool"  who 
keeps  his  adored  one  in  total  ignorance  of  the  world,  is 
the  man  to  whom  he  is  speaking,  tells  him  her  name, 
with  an  effect  upon  Arnolphe's  wrath  easy  to  conceive. 
Careful  not  to  betray  himself  to  Horace,  outraged 
Arnolphe  upbraids  innocent  Agnes  for  her  treachery ? 
but  receives  a  confession  so  ingenuous  and  frank  that, 
more  alarmed  for  her  safety  than  mollified  by  her  expla- 
nation, he  resolves  to  marry  her  forthwith.  Hastening 
to  arrange  the  wedding,  he  again  meets  Horace,  who  in- 
forms him  that  Agnes  has  closed  her  door  in  his  face  and 
thrown  a  stone  at  him  ;  but  the  joy  of  this  news  is 
quickly  abated  by  the  discovery  that  around  it  was 
wrapped  a  billet  doux.  Plunged  once  more  into  fury 
and  despair,  Arnolphe  plots  revenge,  rushes  to  the 
girl  they  love  in  common,  only  to  interrupt  a  ren- 
dezvous —  his  rival  eluding  him  by  jumping  from  a 
balcony. 

In  the  resulting  confusion  Agnes  escapes  to  her  lover's 
arms;  but  with  an  obtuseness  worthy  of  Lelie  the 
blunderer,  he  confides  her  to  Arnolphe's  care,  thereby 
making  possible  the  climax,  wherein  the  latter  upbraids 
his  false  affianced  bride,  then  pleads  in  vain  for  her 
love. 

Arnolphe  has  been  heretofore  a  pedantic  taskmaster, 
yet  when  he  confronts  the  truly  feminine  "  little  serpent 
he  has  warmed  in  his  bosom,"  and  learns  that  despite  his 
teachings  she  has  discovered  that  "  love  is  full  of  joy," 
he  becomes  a  man  of  impulse,  sentiment,  and  passion ; 
witness  the  following  lines : 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  161 

ARNOLPHE 
Why  don't  you  love  me,  Madam  Impudence  ? 

AGNES 

Good  heavens,  I  am  not  the  one  to  blame  : 
Why  didn't  you,  as  he  did,  make  me  love  ? 
For  surely,  I  have  never  hindered  you. 

ARNOLPHE 

I  've  tried  by  every  means  within  my  power ; 
But  all  my  efforts  are  in  vain  —  all  lost  ! 

AGNES 

Indeed,  he  knows  more  of  that  art  than  you, 
Since  teaching  me  to  love  required  no  pains. 

But  the  girl  relents  sufficiently  to  exclaim  that  from  the 
bottom  of  her  heart  she  wishes  to  please  him,  and  asks 
what  it  would  cost  her  to  succeed.  Arnolphe's  answer 
is  worthy  a  less  pragmatic  lover;  indeed,  it  turns  the 
interest  to  him,  and  strikes  so  strong  a  note  of  sympathy 
that  this  comedy  is  raised  at  once  to  a  higher  level  than 
any  Moliere  had  yet  reached : 

Pray  leave  this  fellow  with  the  love  he  brings 

And  all  the  spell  some  mystic  charm  exerts ; 

For  happier  with  me  a  hundred  times 

You  '11  be.      Your  wish  is  to  be  wise,  arrayed 

Full  richly  ?     Both  are  yours,  I  swear  !     By  night, 

By  day,  I  '11  worship  you,  and  close  within 

My  arms  enfold  and  kiss  you,  with  my  love 

Devour  you  —  every  whim  of  yours  shaH  be 

My  law  —  I  can't  explain,  for  all  is  said. 

(Aside)  Such  passion  leads  to  what  extremities  ! 

(  To  Agnes)  No  love  approaches  mine.      Demand  what  proof 

You  will,  ungrateful  girl  !     Can  streaming  cheeks, 

IX 


162  MOLIERE 

Or  bruised  back,  or  half  my  locks  out-torn, 
Or  death  itself  bring  satisfaction  ?     Speak, 
Most  cruel  one  ;  I  'm  ready  all  to  dare 
And  all  to  do,  that  I  may  prove  my  love  ! 

Yet,  woman-like,  Agnes  prefers  her  blond  lover,  so  this 
appeal  falls  on  deaf  ears.  Arnolphe  is  dismissed  with 
the  admonition  that  "two  of  Horace's  words  are  worth, 
all  his  own  dissertations,"  and  but  for  the  timely  arrival 
of  a  pair  of  fathers  —  the  long  lost  parents  of  Agnes 
and  Horace,  respectively  —  his  just  anger  might  have 
consigned  the  cruel  minx  to  "  the  inmost  cell  of  a 


convent." 


The  assertion  of  these  progenitors  that  their  offspring 
have  been  betrothed  since  infancy  brings  the  play  to  a 
happy  conclusion  for  all  save  the  disconsolate  hero ; 
but  even  to  accomplish  this  cheerful  result,  Moliere 
seems  hardly  justified  in  burdening  his  work  with  these 
time-hallowed  fathers  of  classic  comedy,  —  a  fault  which 
causes  Voltaire  to  exclaim  that  "in  The  School  for  Wives 
the  denouement  is  quite  as  artificial  as  it  was  skilful  in 
The  School  for  Husbands  !  "  * 

In  conception  this  play  is  even  less  original ;  for  the 
story  of  a  lover  who  makes  a  confidant  of  his  rival, 
besides  occurring  in  The  Jocular  Nights  (Piacevoli  notte\ 
by  Straparola,  has  been  traced  through  preceding  Italian 
and  classical  authors,  even  to  Herodotus  ;  while  a  novel 
by  Scarron  —  itself  filched  from  a  Spanish  source  — 
called  The  Useless  Precaution  (La  Precaution  inutile},  con- 
tains a  character  resolved  not  to  wed  unless  he  can  find 
"  a  wife  enough  of  an  idiot  to  prevent  fear  of  the  evil 
tricks  which  clever  women  play  their  husbands."  Still 

1  Vie  de  Mol&re,  avec  des  jugtments  sur  ses  outrages. 


THE  SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  163 

to   fertilise  a  sterile  subject   until    consummate  flowers 
spring  forth  is  a  triumph  of  genius. 

Though  its  subject  may  not  be  original,  for  all  that  it 
is  inferior  technically  to  The  School  for  Husbands,  the 
verses  of  this  sprightly  comedy  certainly  "do  not  give 
advantage  to  stubborn  critics/'  In  fact,  Voltaire  assures 
us  that  "  connoisseurs  admired  the  dexterity  with  which 
Moliere  was  able  to  interest  and  please  throughout  five 
acts,  solely  by  Horace's  confidence  in  an  old  man,  told 
in  simple  speeches."  He  might  have  added  that  this 
dexterity  lay  in  making  simple  speeches  present  exalted 
sentiments  in  a  musical  flow  of  words  ;  for  never  before 
had  Moliere  shown  such  depth  of  feeling.  Indeed,  in  the 
human  scene  between  Arnolphe  and  Agnes,  The  School 
for  Wives  passes  far  beyond  the  foot-hills,  almost  to  the 
noble  heights,  of  tragedy. 

Itjs-Jnasterful  also  in  characterisation ;  for  although 
Ariste,  the  altruist,  is  lacking,  Chrysalde,  the  man  of  the 
world,  is  an  equally  true  and  far  more  practical  philoso- 
pher ;  while  both  Arnolphe  and  Agnes,  drawn  with  a 
firmer  hand  than  Sganarelle  and  Isabelle,  are  conceived  in 
closer  accordance  with  present  day  ideas.  Few  modern 
lovers  would  uphold  Sganarelle's  doctrine  of  locks  and 
keys,  but  Arnolphe's  dream  of  innocence  is  shared  by 
many.  As  M.  Louis  Moland  aptly  says,  "the  germ  of 
him  is  in  every  old  bachelor."  * 

Like  its  companion  piece,  it  deals  with  the  problem  of 
an  elderly  man's  love  for  a  young  girl,  the  problem  of 
its  author's  own  life,  The  School  for  Husbands  was  pro- 
duced, be  it  remembered,  nine  months  before  Moliere's 
marriage,  whereas  The  School  for  Wives  was  presented 
ten  months  thereafter,  —  a  divergence  in  time  sufficient  to 
1  Vie  de  J.-B.  P.  Moliere. 


164  MOLlfiRE 

justify  the  conclusion  that  Arista's  optimism  expresses 
a  bridegroom's  hopes,  Chrysalde's  cynicism  a  husband's 
experience.  For  instance,  when  Arnolphe,  fearful  of 
wearing  horns,  ridicules  his  friend's  theory  that  "when 
you  don't  get  the  wife  you  want,  like  a  gambler,  you 
should  mend  your  luck  by  good  management,"  that 
imperturbable  philosopher  replies  : 

You  scoff,  my  frfend,  but  candidly  I  know 

A  hundred  ills  in  this  world  of  mishap 

Greater  than  the  dire  accident  you  dread. 

Do  you  not  think,  that  were  I  free  to  choose, 

I  'd  rather  be  the  thing  you  fear  than  married 

To  an  upright  wife,  whose  temper  makes  a  storm 

Grow  out  of  nothing  ?  one  of  those  pure  fiends, 

Those  virtue-dragons  fortified  around 

By  spotless  deeds,  who,  owing  to  the  wrong 

They  have  not  done  to  us,  unto  themselves 

Would  arrogate  the  right  to  domineer ; 

Who,  since  they  're  faithful,  ask  we  shall  forgive 

Most  meekly  every  pitiful  defect 

And  all  endure  ?     One  parting  shot,  good  friend  : 

The  plight  of  cuckoldom  is  what  we  make 

It  be ;  in  some  ways  much  to  be  desired  : 

Like  all  else  in  this  world,  it  has  its  joys. 

The  husband  of  a  coquette  might  find  considerable 
solace  in  this  stoical  reasoning.  Indeed,  throughout  the 
play  there  is  such  an  undertone  of  dread  for  the  catas- 
trophe Chrysalde  thus  makes  light  of,  that  one  is  tempted 
to  read  between  the  lines  the  story  of  the  author's  own 
fears.  Usually  this  takes  the  form  of  cynicism  ;  but 
sometimes  it  becomes  broad  humour,  as  when  Alain, 
the  servant,  exclaims  : 

In  truth,  a  woman  is  a  husband's  pottage, 
And  when  a  husband  sees  that  other  men 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  165 

Would  like  to  dip  their  fingers  in  his  soup, 
Immediately  his  anger  waxes  hot. 

Since  the  optimistic  School  for  Husbands  was  penned, 
Moliere  had  certainly  experienced  a  change  of  sentiment ; 
for  the  Utopian  theories  of  amiable  Ariste  give  place  to 
raillery  as  sceptical  as  this : 

I  know  the  artful  tricks,  the  subtle  plots, 
Which  women  use  to  leave  us  in  the  lurch ; 
And  how  they  dupe  us  by  their  cleverness. 

To  interpret  this  passage  as  the  plaint  of  a  man  to  whom 
marital  experience  has  taught  the  ways  of  women  is  not 
difficult ;  while  the  following  lines  from  one  of  Arnolphe's 
all  too  frequent  soliloquies  might  equally  be  said  to 
express  Moliere's  feeling  whenever  courtiers  made  un- 
hallowed love  to  his  young  wife  during  that  honeymoon 
at  St.  Germain.  Certainly  the  period  of  thirteen  years 
coincides  with  the  time  the  poet  wandered  through  the 
South  of  France  and  Armande  Bejart  was  his  ward : 

What  !  supervise  her  training  with  such  care, 
Moreover  cherish  her  within  my  house 
For  thirteen  years,  while  every  day  my  heart 
Beats  faster  to  her  growing  girlish  charm, 
And  meantime  she  is  pampered  as  my  own, 
In  order,  now,  that  in  this  very  hour 
When  we  are  fully  half  as  good  as  wed, 
A  coxcomb  whom  she  fascinates  shall  pluck 
Her  slyly  from  beneath  my  bearded  lip  ? 
No,  by  the  heavens,  no  !   ... 

But  the  depth  of  Moliere's  passion  for  his  vain,  unfeel- 
ing wife  can  best  be  traced  in  the  scene  between  Agnes 
and  Arnolphe,  when,  thus  unconsciously,  his  own  heart 
is  laid  bare : 


166  MOLIERE 

ARNOLPHE 

(Aside)  That  word  disarms  my  wrath ;  that  look  recalls 

Unto  my  heart  sufficient  tenderness 

To  blot  out  all  the  blackness  of  her  guilt. 

How  strange  is  love  !   To  think  that  sober  men 

Should  stoop  to  folly  for  such  renegades 

When  all  the  world  must  see  their  faults.   'T  is  base 

Extravagance,  indeed,  and  rashness  wild, 

For  wicked  are  their  brains  and  weak  their  hearts, 

And  nothing  stupider  could  be,  or  more 

Disloyal,  naught  more  frail  ;   yet,  in  despite, 

The  world  moves  solely  for  these  little  brutes  ! 

( To  Agnti)   Peace  be  it  then,  and  pardon  take  for  all ! 

Go,  traitress,  go  ;  I  give  thee  back  affection: 

Thus  by  the  love  I  bear  thee,  learn  my  love, 

And  seeing  me  kind,  love  me  in  revenge. 

There  is  danger,  of  course,  that,  in  this  quest  for 
introspective  passages,  caution  may  be  outweighed  by 
zeal ;  still,  so  vain  a  bride  as  Armande  Bejart  could  not 
long  restrain  her  coquetry  in  the  atmosphere  in  which 
her  honeymoon  was  passed,  nor  could  her  doting  hus- 
band long  remain  blind  to  the  ways  of  libertine  ad- 
mirers ;  so  the  conclusion  that  the  many  touching 
strophes  of  this  comedy  set  forth  the  trials  and  sorrows 
.of  the  poet's  heart  seems  amply  justified.  Indeed,  no- 
where, save  in  The  Misanthrope^  did  he  so  clearly  sing 
the  misery  of  his  soul ;  and  it  is  perhaps  this  very  sub- 
jectivity which  makes  The  School  for  Wives  the  greatest 
of  his  Gallic  plays. 

Although  national  in  spirit,  this  comedy  was  in  a  way 
a  militant  play ;  yet  now  that  the  tornado  of  abuse 
which  burst  upon  Moliere  after  its  first  performance  has 
long  subsided,  it  is  difficult  to  realise  how  even  the 
pharisees  of  that  day  could  have  found  in  its  sprightly 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  167 

mirth  sufficient  heresy  to  declare  him  the  enemy  of  both 
common  decency  and  Holy  Church ;  yet  such  was  the 
case. 

Chrysalde's  defence  of  wifely  indiscretion  was  de- 
nounced as  an  attack  upon  marital  ethics ;  a  scene 
wherein  Arnolphe  instructs  the  innocent  heroine  in  wifely 
duties  and  threatens  her  with  "  boiling  caldrons  "  should 
she  fail  in  circumspection,  was  held  to  be^  a  travesty  upon 
pulpit  homilies.  Furthermore,  the  eleven  Maxims  of  t 
Marriage ;  or,  Duties  of  a  Married  Woman,  together  with 
her  Daily  Practice,  compiled  by  Arnolphe  for  the  in- 
struction of  his  bride  elect  and  read  aloud  by  Her,  were 
anathematised  as  a  base  parody  of  the  catechism.  Two 
of  these  harmless  precepts,  freely  translated,  should  es- 
tablish the  creed-bound  acrimony  of  Moliere's  enemies : 

MAXIM  III 

Far  from  duty  is  sly  glancing, 
Likewise  rouges  and  pomade. 
Learn  the  thousand  drugs  entrancing, 
By  which  blushing  tints  are  made, 
Mortal  poisons  are  to  honour, 
Since  the  powder,  paint,  and  scent 
Every  false  wife  puts  upon  her 
Seldom  for  her  liege  are  meant. 

MAXIM  IV 

She  's  honour  bound,  'neath  coif  sedate, 
To  stifle  glances  soft  and  low, 
Since  sworn  to  please  her  lawful  mate 
'T  is  wrong  for  her  to  please  a  beau. 

Among  the  most  scandalised  religionists  was  the 
Prince  de  Conti,  the  erstwhile  rake  whose  sanctimonious 
zeal  condemned  his  former  schoolmate's  comedy  "  as  a 


i68  MOLIERE 

licentious  work  offending  good  manners";1  still,  this 
skirmish  with  bigotry  was  only  preliminary  to  the  five 
years'  war  Moliere  soon  waged  against  both  Jansenists 
and  Jesuits  in  behalf  of  his  masterpiece,  The  Hypocrite. 

Impiety  proved  so  strong  a  drawing  card  that  I'he 
SchooTfor  Wives  became  the  greatest  stage  success  of  its 
author's  career.  Between  its  production  in  Christmas 
week,  1662,  and  the  Easter  holidays,  it  was  presented  at 
the  Palais  Royal  thirty-one  times,  —  a  run  made  even 
more  phenomenal  by  the  fact  that  the  receipts  exceeded 
a  thousand  livres  at  each  of  fourteen  of  these  perform- 
ances, whereas  during  the  entire  four  years  Moliere  had 
been  in  Paris  that  mark  had  been  reached  only  twelve 
times,  all  told. 

De  Vize's  statement  that  "  all  the  world  found  The 
School  for  Wives  wicked,  and  all  the  world  ran  to  see  it,"1 
shows  the  part  sensation  played  in  this  triumph  ;  for  what 
result  other  than  success  could  be  attained  by  a  play  that 
"  the  ladies  condemned,  but  went  to  see  "  ?  "  For  my 
part,"  this  writer  adds,  "  I  hold  it  the  most  mischievous 
subject  that  ever  has  existed,  and  I  am  ready  to  maintain 
that  there  is  not  a  scene  without  an  infinite  number  of 
faults  "  ;  yet  he  was  obliged  to  avow,  "  in  justice  to  the 
author,"  that  cc  the  piece  was  a  monster  with  beautiful 
parts,"  and,  in  tribute  to  the  histrionism  of  the  company, 
to  admit  that  "  no  comedy  was  ever  so  well  played,  or 
with  such  art,"  for  each  actor  knew  just  how  many 
steps  to  take,  each  glance  was  numbered.  Loret,  too, 
accounts  Moliere' s  comedy  — 

1  Trait'e  de  la  comedie  et  des  spectacles,  selon  la  tradition  de  F  tglise 
tiree  des  conciles  et  des  saints  Peres,  by  Armand  de  Bourbon,  Prince  de 
Conti,  1 66 1. 

2  Nouvelles  nouvelles. 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  169 

A  play  at  which  such  blame  is  hurled, 
Although  'tis  seen  of  all  the  world, 
That  never  topic  of  such  worth 
So  much  attention  has  brought  forth.1 

Moreover,  The  School  for  Wives  made  at  least  one  ardent 
friend,  for  within  a  week  after  its  presentation  Boileau, 
then  a  young  man  of  twenty-six,  addressed  the  author 
a  few  complimentary  stanzas  upon  "  his  most  beautiful 
work,"  concluding  with  this  cheering  advice : 

Let  all  your  envious  critics  growl, 
Though  far  and  wide  they  idly  howl 
That  you  have  charmed  the  mob  in  vain, 
That  your  best  verses  do  not  please  — 
If  you  did  not  such  plaudits  gain, 
You  could  not  anger  with  such  ease.2 

Thus  Boileau's  friendship,  like  La  Fontaine's,  was  in- 
spired  in  the  first  instance  by  a  just  estimate  of  Moliere's 
genius. 

The  School  for  Wives  was  first  played  before  royalty 
on  January  sixth,  1663,  and,  according  to  Loret,  "made 
their  Majesties  laugh  until  they  fairly  held  their  sides  " ; 
indeed  so  great  was  the  royal  mirth  that  Louis  must 
needs  see  it  again  within  a  fortnight.  Emboldened  by 
his  monarch's  approval  of  a  work  the  critics  had  so  un- 
reservedly condemned,  Moliere,  with  a  view  to  answer- 
ing them  in  kind,  placed  upon  his  boards,  June  first, 
1663,  The  Criticism  of  The  School  for  Wives  (La  Critique 
de  ly Rcole  des  femmes),  —  a  dialogue  rather  than  a  play. 

The  plot  of  this  charming  conceit  consists  solely  in 

1  La  Muse  bistorique. 

8  Stances  a  M.  Moliere  sur  sa  com'edie  de  F  JLcole  des  femmei  que plu- 
gens  frondoient. 


170  MOLIERE 

the  discussion  of  The  School  for  Wives  by  a  coterie  of 
fashionables,  meeting  by  chance  at  Uranie's  house  to 
gossip  "over  the  teacups,"  as  we  should  now  say. 
Climene,  the  precieuse,  Elise,  a  woman  of  fashion,  a  mar- 
quess, and  Lysidas,  a  poet  a  la  mode>  voice  popular 
disapproval  of  that  play;  while  the  hostess  and  Dorante, 
a  chevalier,  uphold  Moliere,  and  are,  so  to  speak,  his 
mouthpieces.  These  butterflies,  painted  in  colours  time 
cannot  dim,  are  so  lifelike  that  it  is  difficult  to  realise 
Uranie's  drawing-room  is  not  in  the  Champs  Elysees 
quarter;  for  who  has  not  known  just  such  a  woman  as 
the  hostess  describes  Climene  to  be  when  hearing  she 
resents  being  called  a  precieuse? 

She  disproves  the  charge  in  name,  it  is  true,  but  not 
in  deed  ;  for  she  is  one  from  head  to  foot,  and,  besides, 
she  is  the  most  affected  creature  in  the  world.  Her 
whole  body  seems  to  be  out  of  joint;  her  hips,  shoulders, 
and  head  apparently  move  only  on  springs,  and  she 
always  affects  a  silly,  languishing  tone  of  voice,  pouts  to 
show  a  small  mouth,  or  rolls  her  eyes  to  make  them 
look  large. 

How  cosmopolitan  is  the  marquess,  too,  who  adjudges 
Moliere's  play  "the  worst  in  the  world,"  because,  "deuce 
take  it !  "  he  could  hardly  find  a  seat !  —  an  exquisite, 
whose  critical  acumen  is  thus  asserted  : 

Truly,  I  find  it  detestable  —  detestable,  egad!  De- 
testable to  the  last  degree.  What  you  may  call  detesta- 
ble. .  .  .  Zounds !  I  guarantee  it  to  be  detestable.  .  .  . 
It  is  detestable,  because  it  is  detestable ! 

This  twaddle  of  a  man  of  fashion  is  perhaps  surpassed 
by  the  same  character's  answer  to  the  assertion  of  Elise 
that  she  cannot  digest  the  pottage  or  the  cream  tart : 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  171 

Ah,  upon  my  word  !  yes  —  cream  tart !  That  is 
what  I  was  saying  earlier :  Cream  tart !  I  say,  but  I  am 
obliged  to  you,  Madam,  for  reminding  me  of  cream  tart. 
Are  there  enough  apples  in  Normandy  for  cream  tart?1 
Cream  tart,  egad,  cream  tart ! 

But  this  macaroni,  like  Climene,  theprfcieusc,  is  designed 
only  as  a  target  for  Moliere's  shafts;  witness  Dorante's 
retort : 

Then,  Marquess,  you  are  one  of  those  fine  gentle- 
men who  won't  admit  the  pit  has  any  common  sense,  and 
would  be  mortified  to  laugh  with  it,  even  were  the  play 
the  best  in  the  world.  I  saw  one  of  our  friends  make 
himself  ridiculous  the  other  day  in  just  that  way  by 
sitting  a  comedy  out  with  the  wryest  face  imaginable. 
Whenever  anything  pleased  the  audience,  he  frowned, 
while  at  each  outburst  of  laughter  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  gave  the  pit  a  look  of  spite  or  compassion, 
and  shouted  :  "  Laugh  away,  pit,  laugh  away  !  "  2  Our 
friend's  annoyance  was  a  supplemental  comedy,  most 
worthily  acted,  and  the  audience  was  agreed  it  could  not 
have  been  done  better.  I  beg  you  to  learn,  my  dear 
Marquess,  and  the  others  as  well,  that  in  the  theatre 
common  sense  has  no  exclusive  abode.  The  difference 
between  half  a  louis  and  fifteen  sous  has  nothing  to  do 
with  good  taste;  for,  either  sitting  or  standing,  you  may 
judge  badly.  In  short,  taking  it  as  it  comes,  I  should 
be  inclined  to  trust  the  approval  of  the  pit,  since 
among  its  denizens  there  are  many  capable  of  criticising 
a  play  according  to  dramatic  standards,  while  the  rest 
pass  judgment,  as  indeed  they  ought,  by  letting  them- 
selves be  guided  by  events,  without  blind  prejudice,  silly 
complaisance,  or  absurd  delicacy. 

1  The  apple  orchards  of  France  are  in  Normandy,  and  this  fruit  was 
the  favourite  projectile  of  the  pit. 

2  Presumably  an  actual  occurrence,  since  Brossette  in    his  edition  of 
Boileau  (1716)  names  one  "  Plapisson,  who  passed  for  a  great  philoso- 
pher," as  the  author  of  this  insulting  prank. 


172  MOLIERE 

This  passage,  just  though  it  be,  is  surely  an  appeal 
to  the  "  gallery  gods  "  ;  but  Moliere,  be  it  remembered, 
was  an  actor.  Indeed  this  entire  skit  appears  intended 
to  delight  his  cash-paying  patrons  at  the  expense  of  the 
dandies,  whose  rush-seat  chairs  upon  the  stage  were  so 
seldom  paid  for.  Furthermore,  his  own  art  is  placed  on 
trial,  and  he  waxes  warm  in  its  defence  when  Dorante 
answers  Uranie's  assertion  that  comedy  is  quite  as 
difficult  to  write  as  tragedy : 

Assuredly,  Madam ;  and  as  for  the  difficulty,  if  you 
allow  comedy  a  trifle  more  than  its  share,  you  will  not  be 
far  from  wrong.  Indeed,  I  think  it  far  easier  to  soar 
aloft  upon  fine  sentiments,  beard  fortune  in  verse,  impeach 
destiny,  and  arraign  the  gods,  than  to  depict  the  ridicu- 
lous side  of  human  nature  or  make  the  common  faults  of 
mankind  appear  diverting  on  the  stage.  When  you  paint 
heroes,  you  make  them  what  you  choose ;  no  likeness  is 
sought  in  such  fancy  portraits ;  therefore  you  need  only 
follow  the  winged  shafts  of  an  imagination  more  than  likely 
to  desert  truth  for  the  accomplishment  of  marvels.  But 
when  you  paint  men  you  must  paint  from  nature ;  and  if 
you  do  not  make  us  recognise  the  men  and  women  of 
our  time,  you  have  accomplished  nothing.  In  a  word, 
all  that  is  necessary  in  serious  plays  is  to  escape  censure, 
talk  common  sense,  and  write  well.  But  in  comedy  that 
is  not  enough.  You  must  jest,  and  to  make  honest 
people  laugh  is  a  strange  undertaking. 

An  author  whose  comedy  was  playing  to  what  a  mod- 
ern manager  would  call  "  capacity  business,"  would  have 
been  preternatural  did  he  not  glory  a  little  in  his  achieve- 
ment; moreover,  it  is  a  pardonable  revenge  to  take 
upon  his  critics  when  Uranie  thus  answers  the  poet 
Lysidas  : 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  173 

It  is  odd  that  you  poets  always  condemn  the  plays 
the  whole  world  rushes  to  see,  and  only  speak  well  of 
those  every  one  avoids.  Toward  the  one  you  display 
an  unconquerable  hatred,  toward  the  other  an  incon- 
ceivable affection. 

But  Moliere's  satire  is  even  more  delicious,  his  techni- 
cal judgment  keener,  when  Dorante  answers  the  pedantic 
strictures  of  this  same  Lysidas  as  follows  : 

You  poets  are  amusing  fellows  with  those  rules  of 
yours,  made  only  to  embarrass  the  ignorant  and  deafen 
the  rest  of  us.  To  hear  you  hold  forth,  one  would  think 
the  rules  of  art  were  the  greatest  mysteries  in  the  world  ; 
while  in  reality  they  are  merely  a  few  simple  observations 
which  good  sense  has  made  upon  elements  that  might 
destroy  the  pleasure  one  finds  in  such  poems.  The 
same  good  sense  which  once  made  those  observations 
now  continues  to  make  them  quite  as  readily  without  the 
aid  of  Horace  or  Aristotle.  I  should  like  to  know 
whether  the  great  rule  of  all  rules  is  not  to  please,  and  if 
a  play  which  attains  that  end  has  not  travelled  a  good 
road  ?  Can  the  entire  public  be  mistaken,  and  is  not 
each  one  capable  of  judging  of  the  pleasure  he  receives  ? 

Far  from  convincing  Moliere's  critics  of  the  futility  of 
condemning  a  play  "  the  whole  world  rushes  to  see,"  The 
Criticism  of  The  School  for  Wives  served  only  to  redouble 
their  anger.  Soon  an  army  of  revengeful  scribblers 
began  discharging  replies,  defences,  and  counter-criticisms 
at  their  arch-enemy  as  rapidly  as  they  could  dip  their 
pens  in  noxious  ink.  Foremost,  in  point  of  acrimony, 
was  Donneau  de  Vize's  dialogue,  Zehnde ;  or,  The  True 
Criticism  of  The  School  for  Wives,  and  the  Criticism  of  the 
Criticism  (Zelinde  ou  la  veritable  critique  de  f  Rcole  des 
femmes  et  la  Critique  de  la  critique),  — a  pamphlet  wherein 
Moliere  was  accused  of  having  offended  the  church 


i74  MOLIERE 

morality,  the  stage,  the  court,  and  society:  but  a  comedy 
called  The  Portrait  of  the  Painter ;  or,  'The  Counter- 
Criticism  of  The  School  for  Wives  (Le  Portrait  du  peintre 
ou  la  Contre- critique  de  FEcole  des  femmes)  from  the  pen 
of  a  young  writer  named  Boursault,  which  was  played 
at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  while  Moliere  himself  was 
seated  on  the  stage,  apparently  inflicted  the  deepest 
wound  upon  the  poet's  vanity.  De  Vize  even  accuses 
him  of  making  "  a  wry  face  "  *  during  this  performance. 

In  Boursault's  play  Moliere's  comic  characters,  the 
precieuse  and  the  marquess,  appear  in  defence  of  The 
School  for  Wives,  while  his  wiseacres  attack  it;  thus  the 
marquess  claims  it  to  be  "  admirable,  egad  !  admirable  to 
the  last  degree/'  and  there  is  a  story  to  the  effect  that 
when  Moliere  was  asked  his  opinion  of  his  portrait,  he 
answered,  "Admirable,  egad,  admirable  to  the  last  de- 
gree !  "  2  —  a  bit  of  sententiousness  tempered  with  honest 
pride  ;  for,  as  he  said, "  the  actors  of  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne, in  turning  my  plays  inside  out  like  a  coat,  profited 
by  their  charm." 

Fellow  craftsmen,  however,  were  not  the  only  enemies 
he  was  obliged  to  encounter.  One  day,  as  he  passed 
through  an  apartment  of  the  palace,  the  Due  de  la 
Feuillade,  while  pretending  to  greet  him,  seized  his  head 
suddenly,  and  crying,  "  Cream  tart,  Moliere,  cream 
tart,"  rubbed  his  face  against  the  sharp  buttons  of  his 
doublet  until  it  bled.3  Fortunately  the  King  took  his 

1  Reponse  a  P Impromptu  de  Versailles. 

8  Les  Amours  de  Calotin,  a  comedy  by  Chevalier,  a  comedian  of  the 
Theatre  du  Marais. 

8  This  story  is  first  told  in  the  Life  of  Moliere  (Vie  de  Moliere)  attrib- 
uted to  Bruzen  de  la  Martiniere,  and  published  at  The  Hague  in  1725  ; 
but  Grimarest  makes  mention  of  a  "cream  tart"  incident  between 
Moliere  and  "  a  courtier  of  distinction,"  while  De  Vize  refers  in  Zelinde 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  175 

part,  and  reproved  the  recalcitrant  duke;  else  the 
Bastille,  rather  than  a  nose-rubbing,  might  have  been 
Moliere's  fate. 

Boursault's  play,  The  Portrait  of  the  Painter,  was  an 
attempt  to  hoist  Moliere  with  his  own  petard,  and  so 
galled  him  that  he  penned  and  rehearsed  a  comedy,  in 
retort,  called  The  Versailles  Impromptu  (U  Impromptu  de 
Versailles}* 

Produced,  as  its  name  implies,  before  the  court  at  Ver- 
sailles, this  one-act  piece  is  in  the  vein  of  The  Criticism 
of  The  School  for  Wives  ;  but  Moliere's  attacks  upon  his 
critics,  instead  of  being  entrusted  to  poets,  fops,  and 
precieuses,  are  voiced  by  the  members  of  his  own  com- 
pany, himself  included,  in  propriis  personis.  In  other 
words,  The  Impromptu  presents  the  stage  of  his  theatre 
during  the  rehearsal  of  a  new  play,  in  the  course  of 

to  «•  the  cream  tart  adventure";  so  it  seems  more  than  probable  that 
Moliere  suffered  this  indignity.  Brossette,  however,  says  that  Monsieur 
d'Armagnac,  the  grand  equerry,  was  the  author  of  the  insult. 

1  The  question  whether  Boursault's  play  preceded  or  followed  The 
Versailles  Impromptu  on  the  boards  is  still  a  mooted  one.  In  the  latter 
play  Moliere  unquestionably  shows  familiarity  with  The  Portrait ,-  but 
this  might  have  been  acquired  through  a  reading.  According  to  a  docu- 
ment unearthed  at  Berlin,  the  envoy  of  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg  was 
present  at  the  first  performance  of  The  Portrait,  —  an  event  occurring  at 
the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  October  nineteenth,  1663  ;  while  the  preface  of 
1682  gives  October  fourteenth  as  the  date  of  the  first  production  of  The 
Impromptu  t — facts  which  would  apparently  establish  the  priority  of  Mo- 
liere's piece,  were  it  not  that  La  Grange,  in  stating  that  the  Palais  Royal 
company  went  to  Versailles  October  eleventh  and  returned  October 
twenty-third,  fails  to  give  the  exact  date  of  The  Impromptu's  pro- 
duction there.  As  the  King,  absent  on  the  eleventh,  did  not  reach 
Versailles  until  the  fifteenth,  evidently  the  new  play  was  not  presented 
until  after  his  arrival.  The  possibility  of  the  two  comedies  having  been 
produced  on  the  same  day  is  suggested  by  M.  Paul  Mesnard,  Notice 
biograpbique. 


176  MOLIERE 

which  his  actors  receive  their  stage  directions  and  are 
frankly  told  their  chiePs  opinion  of  their  respective  abili- 
ties. Indeed,  this  play  is  a  biographical  document  wherein 
Moliere  shows  himself  in  the  role  of  manager,  and 
reveals  his  stage  business  and  theories  of  histrionic  art  in 
a  way  that  clearly  indicates  his  character  to  be  at  once 
nervous  and  patient,  headstrong  and  even  stubborn ; 
moreover,  he  paints  the  eccentricities  of  his  comrades  so 
cleverly  that  they  appear  more  lifelike  than  any  purely 
biographical  notice  could  present  them ;  hence,  besides 
being  a  polemic,  this  play  is  a  realistic  picture  of  life  in 
Moliere's  company. 

"  Ah,  what  strange  beasts  actors  are  to  drive ! "  he 
exclaims  while  distributing  the  parts  for  an  imaginary 
play,  —  an  opinion  many  a  modern  manager  will  share; 
and  he  is  equally  unsparing  of  irony  when  he  refers  to 
his  own  family  relations,  as  the  following  bit  of  dialogue 
will  testify  : 

MOLIERE 
Be  quiet,  wife  !     You  are  a  fool. 

MLLE.  MOLIERE  [Armande  Bejart] 

Thanks,  lord  and  master.  That  shows  how  marriage  changes 
people.  You  would  not  have  said  that  eighteen  months  ago. 

MOLIERE 
Be  quiet,  I  beg  you. 

MLLE.  MOLIERE 

Strange  that  a  trifling  ceremony  is  able  to  rob  us  of  all  our 
good  qualities,  and  that  a  husband  and  lover  regard  the  same 
woman  with  such  different  eyes ! 

MOLIERE 
What  a  sermon ! 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR   WIVES  177 

MLLE.  MOLIERE 

Upon  my  word,  if  I  were  to  write  a  comedy,  that  would  be 
my  subject.  I  should  acquit  women  of  most  of  the  charges 
brought  against  them,  and  make  husbands  afraid  of  the  contrast 
between  their  rough  manners  and  a  lover's  courtesy. 

Interesting  as  is  this  side  light  upon  Moliere's  domes- 
tic affairs,  the  fact  that  this  play  was  designed  and  rushed 
to  completion  within  eight  days  as  a  retort  to  Boursault's 
Portrait  of  the  Painter  should  be  borne  in  mind.  A  true 
picture  of  theatrical  life  at  the  beginning,  including  even  a 
flirtatious  marquess  who  besieges  the  stage  door,  it  soon 
degenerates  to  a  polemic  wherein  Moliere  is  upheld,  not 
over  modestly,  it  must  be  confessed,  and  his  enemies 
handled  with  scant  pity.  Thus  Boursault,  when  Du 
Croisy  speaks  of  The  Portrait,  is  given  the  worst  insult 
an  author  can  receive  —  that  of  being  dismissed  as  un- 
known —  in  the  following  : 

It  is  advertised,  sir,  under  Boursault's  name ;  but,  to 
let  you  into  the  secret,  a  number  of  men  have  had  a 
hand  in  this  work,  so  it  is  a  case  of  great  expectations. 
As  all  authors  and  all  comedians  consider  Moliere  their 
greatest  enemy,  we  are  all  united  to  do  him  an  ill  turn. 
Each  of  us  has  added  a  stroke  of  the  brush  to  his  por- 
trait, but  we  have  been  careful  not  to  sign  our  names  to 
it.  To  capitulate  beneath  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world 
before  the  attack  of  a  combined  Parnassus,  would  be  too 
much  glory ;  so,  to  render  his  defeat  more  ignominious, 
we  have  expressly  chosen  an  author  without  reputation. 

In  the  imaginary  play  under  rehearsal,  Moliere  allots 
himself  the  part  of  a  comical  marquess.  ct  What,  mar- 
quesses, again  ? "  asks  one  of  the  characters  when  the 
parts  are  being  distributed.  "Yes,  marquesses  again," 
Moliere  answers;  "what  the  devil  would  you  have  me 


178  MOLIERE 

do  for  a  low  comedy  character  ?  Nowadays  a  marquess 
is  the  clown  in  a  play ;  for,  just  as  formerly  there  was 
always  a  loutish  servant  to  amuse  the  audience,  now  all 
our  plays  must  have  a  comical  marquess  to  make  the 
spectators  laugh." 

This  bold  onslaught  upon  the  clan  of  marquesses 
certainly  proves  how  secure  Moliere  felt  in  his  mon- 
arch's protection.  However,  when  the  poet  speaks  of  his 
enemies,  he  forgets  that  he  is  playing  a  character  part : 

The  worst  harm  I  have  done  them  is  to  have  the 
good  luck  to  succeed  a  little  more  than  they  wished  me 
to.  Their  whole  conduct  since  we  have  been  in  Paris 
shows  only  too  clearly  what  annoys  them ;  but  let  them 
do  their  worst!  —  all  their  schemes  cannot  worry  me. 
They  criticise  my  plays :  so  much  the  better ;  and 
Heaven  forefend  I  should  ever  write  any  they  would  like  ! 
That  would  certainly  be  a  piece  of  bad  business  for  me. 

Again,  he  exclaims  with  the  desperation  of  a  hounded 
man  : 

Courtesy  must  have  its  limits ;  for  there  are  some 
things  that  can  amuse  neither  the  spectator  nor  the  one 
at  whom  they  are  aimed.  I  gladly  surrender  them  my 
works,  my  face,  my  gestures,  my  words,  my  tones  of 
voice,  my  way  of  reciting  to  do  with  and  talk  about  and 
as  they  see  fit,  if  they  can  derive  any  profit  therefrom. 
I  have  nothing  to  say  against  all  this ;  and  I  should  be 
enchanted  if  it  served  to  divert  the  world ;  but  after 
surrendering  to  them  all  that,  they  might  at  least  have 
the  kindness  to  leave  me  the  rest,  and  not  touch  on 
subjects  of  the  nature  of  those  by  which  I  hear  they 
attack  me  in  their  comedies.  This  is  what  I  shall  po- 
litely urge  upon  the  worthy  man  who  undertakes  to  write 
for  them,  and  this  is  all  the  answer  they  shall  have 
from  me. 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR  WIVES  179 

As  a  final  blow  to  his  enemies,  The  Versailles  Impromptu 
proved  as  ineffectual  as  The  Criticism  of  The  School  for 
Wives.  In  the  former  Moliere  imitated  the  methods 
and  mannerisms  of  the  various  actors  of  the  Hotel  de 
Bourgogne,  much  after  the  manner  of  a  modern  imperso- 
nator, pointing  out  at  the  same  time  the  utter  disregard  of 
nature  in  their  heroic  declamation.  This  was,  of  course, 
a  throw  of  the  gauntlet  to  the  tragedians,  and  Corneille, 
too,  felt  himself  aggrieved  by  the  assertion  that  it  was 
harder  to  make  honest  people  laugh  than  to  write  trag- 
edy ;  so  The  Versailles  Impromptu  called  forth  a  new  crop 
of  plays  and  pamphlets.  Robinet's  Panegyric  of  The 
School  for  Wives ;  or,  A  Comic  Talk  on  the  Works  of  M.  de 
Moliere  (Le  Panegyrique  de  TEcole  des  femmes,  ou  Conversa- 
tion comique  sur  les  (Euvres  de  M.  de  Moliere}  —  in  many 
ways  the  reverse  of  a  panegyric  —  and  De  Vize's  Reply 
to  The  Versailles  Impromptu ;  or,  The  Marquesses  Revenge 
(Reponse  a  ly Impromptu  de  Versailles  ou  la  Vengeance  des 
marquis)  were  the  chief  contributions  of  men  of  letters  to 
this  new  attack,  while  the  tragedians  found  a  valiant 
champion  in  Montfleury  —  a  ranting  member  of  their 
guild  —  who  replied  to  Moliere's  aspersions  upon  the  art 
of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  in  The  Impromptu  of  the 
Hfael  de  Conde  (U  Impromptu  de  r Hotel  de  Conde),  —  an 
uninspired  comedy  in  which  the  author  endeavours  to 
repay  Moliere  in  his  own  coin  by  ridiculing  his  elocu- 
tion and  pantomime. 

The  stage  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  was  the  arena 
for  this  Billingsgate  warfare ;  but  Moliere,  wisely  refrain- 
ing from  further  controversy,  permitted  The  Versailles 
Impromptu  to  be  his  last  trial  of  strength  with  his  ene- 
mies. His  hapless  excursion  into  the  field  of  acrimony 
had  taught  him  the  trite  but  true  lesson  that  speech  is 


180  MOLIERE 

human,  silence  divine.  Characteristic  as  are  the  sub- 
jective passages  of  his  two  polemical  plays,  his  reputa- 
tion nevertheless  suffers  considerably  by  this  descent 
to  fish-market  methods.  True,  the  master  of  the  art  of 
comedy  speaks  ;  yet,  when  all  is  said,  had  the  man  Moliere 
been  content  to  "float  upon  the  wings  of  silence,"  he 
would  appear  to  us  in  a  light  far  more  dignified.  Surely 
those  acrid  passages,  superb  though  they  be  as  tenets  of 
the  art  of "  making  honest  people  laugh,"  tend  to  strip 
the  Parnassian  robes  from  his  back  and  leave  him  a  giant 
trembling  on  the  pedestal  of  a  god,  far  too  nettled  to 
hold  his  tongue  while  envious  pygmies  jeer.  Sainte- 
Beuve  once  called  Montaigne  the  wisest  Frenchman  that 
ever  lived;  he  might  have  added  that  Moliere  is  the 
most  human. 


MOLIERE   THE   COURTIER  181 


XI 

MOLIERE   THE   COURTIER 

SINCE  the  gross  receipts  at  the  Palais  Royal  increased 
fully  ninety  per  cent  during  this  period  of  controversy, 
the  attacks  of  the  critics  proved  a  boon  to  its  treasury  ; 
moreover,  the  sole  change  in  the  ranks  of  the  company 
was  caused  by  De  TEspy's  voluntary  retirement  on  ac- 
count of  age  (March  twelfth)  ;  so,  theatrically,  1663  was 
an  auspicious  year. 

This  prosperity  was  due  in  a  great  measure  to 
Moliere's  ability  "well  to  amuse"  his  monarch,  —  an 
event  of  such  frequent  occurrence  that  during  the  first 
five  years  of  his  sojourn  in  Paris  the  exchequer  of  his 
company  was  enriched  by  some  forty  thousand  livres 
from  performances  given  at  court  and  in  society. 
Though  perfumed  marquesses  were  legitimate  meat  for 
his  satire,  he  wisely  avoided  even  the  suggestion  of  lese 
majeste.  He  was,  indeed,  no  "  unseasoned  courtier " ; 
for  the  King's  wishes  were  his  law,  —  a  policy  he  thus 
discloses  in  The  Versailles  Impromptu  : 

Kings  like  nothing  so  much  as  prompt  obedience,  and 
are  not  at  all  pleased  at  finding  obstacles  in  their  path. 
Things  are  only  acceptable  to  them  at  the  moment  they 
want  them,  and  to  try  to  postpone  their  amusement  is 
to  deprive  it  of  charm.  They  want  pleasures  that  do 
not  keep  them  waiting,  and  the  least  prepared  are  always 
the  most  acceptable.  In  catering  to  their  wishes  we 
should  never  consider  ourselves ;  for  we  exist  only  to 


182  MOLIERE 

please  them ;  and  when  they  command,  our  part  is  to 
respond  quickly  to  their  immediate  desires.  It  is  far 
better  to  do  badly  what  they  ask  than  not  to  do  it  soon 
enough ;  for  even  though  one  be  ashamed  of  not  having 
succeeded  entirely,  one  always  has  the  glory  of  having 
promptly  obeyed  their  behest. 

Lest  Moliere  appear  in  the  light  of  a  literary  toady, 
such  as  Swift,  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  very 
roof  over  his  head  was  there  by  the  King's  grace  and 
that  in  courting  Louis  he  but  emulated  all  France.  In- 
deed, not  to  recognise  the  debt  he  owed  the  man  he  was 
pleased  to  call  "the  greatest  monarch  in  the  world," 
would  have  been  base  ingratitude.  That  he  wisely  re- 
frained from  asking  favours  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 
although  summoned  to  court  thirty-one  times  during  his 
first  five  years  in  Paris  —  often  for  a  sojourn  of  weeks  — 
his  name  did  not  appear  in  the  royal  pension  list  until 
March  seventeenth,  1663,  a  few  weeks  after  the  first 
performance  of  The  School  for  Wives. 

Although  Corneille  received  two  thousand  livres  on 
this  same  occasion,  as  "  the  first  dramatic  poet  of  the 
world,"  and  Menage,  the  critic,  a  like  sum,  Moliere's 
pension  was  but  a  modest  thousand,  as  "  an  excellent 
comic  poet."  Furthermore,  at  least  twenty  other  writers, 
of  whom  Benserade  alone  has  fame,  were  rewarded  as  fully 
as  he ;  while  only  seven  —  among  them  Racine,  then 
comparatively  unknown  —  received  less.  Gratitude  for 
official  recognition  at  a  moment  when  bigotry  was  pro- 
claiming his  School  for  Wives  an  assault  upon  morality, 
and,  maybe,  pride  at  being  the  only  actor  named  in  a 
pension  list  designed  to  award  great  scientists  and  men 
of  letters,  prompted  him  to  thank  his  monarch  for  this 
paltry  recognition  of  his  merit. 


MOLIERE   THE   COURTIER  183 

The  verses  he  indited  for  this  purpose  were  so  charm- 
ing that  even  Robinet  was  forced  to  exclaim,  "  Have 
you  seen  the  acknowledgment  (remerciment}  Moliere  has 
composed  for  his  pension  as  a  fine  wit?  Nothing  so 
gallant  or  pleasing  has  been  seen.  It  is  a  portrait  of  the 
court,  feature  by  feature.  You  see  it  as  if  you  were 
there  :  its  garments,  the  ways  of  courtiers ;  in  short, 
everything  appears  before  you,  even  to  the  sound  of  the 


voices." 


Moliere's  acknowledgment  is,  indeed,  "a  portrait  of 
the  court " ;  for,  summoning  his  "lazy  muse,"  he  bids 
her  don  the  frills  and  ribbons  of  a  marquess  and  attend 
the  King's  levee,  in  order  to  thank  his  Majesty  for  his 
precious  boon.  But  "  a  muse's  manner  is  offensive 
there,"  he  warns  her,  "  so  thus  disguised,  you  '11  pay 
your  court  far  more  agreeably.  You  know  what  you 
must  do  to  simulate  a  marquess  :  perch  a  hat  adorned 
with  thirty  feathers  on  a  costly  wig,  and  let  your  neck- 
band be  large,  your  doublet  small ;  but,  above  all,  I 
recommend  a  cloak  with  a  ribbon  tucked  on  the  back  ; 
and,  remember,  great  gallantry  is  required  to  be  accounted 
a  marquess  of  the  first  order."  Chatting  thus  familiarly, 
the  poet  then  admonishes  his  muse  upon  the  way  to  be- 
have when  she  presents  his  thanks :  "  Cross  the  guard 
room  combing  your  hair  gracefully,  glance  sharply  about 
you,  and  do  not  forget  to  greet  imperiously,  by  name, 
each  one  you  know  —  no  matter  what  his  rank  may  be ; 
for  such  familiarity  gives  any  one  a  distinguished  air. 
Scratch  the  King's  door  with  your  comb,2  or  if,  as  I 

1  Le  Panegyrique  de  /'  Ecole  des  femmes  ou  Conversation  comique  sur 
les  (Euvres  de  M.  de  Moliere. 

2  It  was  customary  to  scratch,  instead  of  knock,  at  the  King's  door  ; 
thus,  for  instance,  the  Baron  de  la  Crasse,  the  hero  of  a  play  of  that  name 


1 84  MOLlfiRE 

foresee,  the  crowd  there  is  great,  wave  your  hat  from 
afar  or  climb  on  something  to  show  your  face,  then  cry 
out  continuously,  c  Mr.  Usher,  for  the  Marquess  So 
and  So/  Throw  yourself  into  the  crowd,  bluster,  elbow 
without  mercy,  press,  push,  and  do  your  devilmost 
to  get  in  front.  Even  should  the  inflexible  usher  shove 
some  repugnant  marquess  in  front  of  you,  don't  re- 
cede, but  stand  there  firmly.  To  open  the  door,  he 
must  dislodge  you ;  therefore  stand  so  no  one  can  pass, 
and  they  will  be  obliged  to  let  you  in,  in  order  to  let  any 
one  in.  When  you  have  entered,  don't  relax  your  efforts. 
To  besiege  the  throne,  you  must  continue  the  struggle ; 
so,  by  conquering  your  ground,  step  by  step,  try  to  be 
one  of  the  nearest  to  it.  If  preceding  besiegers  hold  all 
the  approaches  in  force,  make  up  your  mind  quietly  to 
await  the  prince  in  the  passage.  He  will  recognise  you, 
in  spite  of  your  disguise ;  so  pay  him  your  compliment 
without  further  ado." 

Thus,  with  a  few  bold  strokes  Moliere  paints  the 
courtier :  to  his  fellows,  a  bully  ;  to  his  master,  a  puppy 
with  a  frill  about  his  neck.  In  the  closing  stanza,  too, 
he  flatters  Louis  more  than  all  the  praise  and  incense  of 
his  satellites  : 

A  prince  magnificent  but  asks 

For  compliments  full  brief  and  true, 
And  ours,  you  see,  has  many  other  tasks 

Than  hearkening  to  words  from  you. 
Untouched  is  he  when  fulsome  praise  he  sips  ; 

So  when  you  try  with  open  lips 

To  speak  of  grace  or  favours  gay, 

by  Raymond  de  Poisson  (1662),  recounts  that,  having  knocked  at  the 
King's  door,  the  gentleman  in  waiting  exclaimed  :  "  .  .  .  Apprenez 
done,  Monsieur  de  Pezenas,  qu'on  gratte  a  cette  porte,  et  qu'on  n'y 
heurte  pas." 


MOLlfiRE   THE   COURTIER  185 

At  once  your  meaning 's  clear,  hence  off  he  slips, 

An  arrow  flying,  straight  away  ; 
But  sweetly  smiles,  meantime,  with  manner  bland, 

No  heart  can  e'er  evade. 

What  more  do  you  demand  ? 

Your  compliment  is  paid. 

One  can  fairly  whiff  the  perfumed  air  of  the  throne 
room  and  see  Louis  trip  away  amid  a  throng  of  bowing 
marquesses  with  ribboned  canes. 

In  thus  revealing  the  real  man  beneath  the  robes  of 
state,  Moliere  showed  how  worthily  he  played  the  cour- 
tier's role ;  for  a  king  likes  to  be  treated  as  a  man  and 
equal,  provided  we  stand  just  a  step  or  two  below  him 
with  hat  in  hand.  Our  poet  knew  that  art ;  so  he  won  / 
Louis'  confidence.  Nevertheless  there  was  just  a  grain 
of  snobbishness  in  his  nature;  though  he  ploughed  the 
field  of  snobs  to  his  advantage,  yet,  like  Thackeray,  true 
to  his  middle  class  antecedents,  he  dearly  loved  a  lord. 
This  failing  is  manifested  by  the  pertinacity  with  which 
he  clung  to  the  paltry  title  of  valet  de  chambre  tapissier 
du  roi. 

In  1645,  and  aga*n  m  1650,  he  thus  signed  himself  to 
public  documents,  although  he  had  previously  resigned 
all  rights  to  that  office ;  while  upon  his  brother's  death, 
in  April,  1660,  he  made  haste  to  regain  his  lost  quality  ; 
for  in  November  of  the  following  year  he  witnessed  a 
document  as  valet  de  chambre  du  roi.  To  his  own 
marriage  certificate,  however,  the  name  of  his  father  alone 
is  signed  in  this  manner,  —  possibly  because  the  parent 
objected  to  a  usurpation  of  his  dignities. 

The  first  published  record  of  his  appearance  at  court 
is  found  in  1663,  when  among  the  eight  tapissiers  valets 
de  chambre  serving  during  the  January  trimester,  "  M. 


i86  MOLIERE 

Poquelin  and  his  son,  in  reversion "  are  mentioned 
officially.1 

The  latter  was,  of  course,  Moliere,  and  the  preceding 
year  being  the  period  of  his  marriage  and  long  sojourn  at 
St.  Germain,  it  seems  likely  that  his  wife's  social  ambi- 
tions played  no  small  part  in  causing  him  to  assert  his 
inherited  right  to  make  the  King's  bed.  In  the  words  of 
the  Preface  of  1682, "  Moliere  fulfilled  his  duties  at  court 
during  his  quarter  until  his  death " ;  but  conceive  the 
disdain  with  which  the  marquesses  received  this  actor- 
upholsterer  who  had  so  frequently  held  them  up  to 
public  scorn  —  this  outcast  unworthy  to  be  shriven.  To 
quote  The  Versailles  Impromptu,  "  I  leave  you  to  imag- 
ine if  all  those  who  believed  themselves  satirised  by 
Moliere  would  not  take  the  first  occasion  to  avenge 
themselves  ?  " 

When  he  appeared  in  the  royal  bed-chamber,  one 
valet  de  chambre  openly  refused  to  serve  with  him,  and 
this  sedition  might  have  become  widespread  had  not  an 
amateur  poet  named  Bellocq  rebuked  such  snobbery  by 
asking  the  offended  actor  if  he  might  not  have  the  honour 
of  making  the  King's  bed  with  him.  Thus  aided  by  a 
fellow  craftsman,  Moliere  gained  a  foothold  at  court ;  yet 
the  picture  of  these  two  poets,  gorgeous  in  their  laces, 
ribbons,  and  perukes,  smoothing  the  royal  pillows  and 
sheets  like  a  pair  of  chambermaids,  is  certainly  one  to 
provoke  a  smile. 

There  is  a  charming  sequel  to  this  incident,  which,  like 
many  stories  concerning  Moliere,  has  been  stamped  as 
apocryphal.  To  repeat  it  is  to  court  the  charge  of  being 
a  persifleur ;  yet,  even  at  that  risk,  it  shall  appear  once 
more.  The  officials  of  the  privy  chamber,  it  appears, 
1  U  hat  de  la  France. 


Moliere  and  M.  Belloc  making  the  Kingls  bed 


MOLIERE   THE   COURTIER  187 

showed  plainly  how  it  annoyed  them  to  be  obliged  to  eat 
at  the  same  table  with  Moliere ;  so  Louis,  hearing  of  their 
rudeness,  said  to  the  actor  one  morning  during  the  petit 
lever : 

"  I  hear  you  are  badly  entertained,  M.  de  Moliere, 
and  that  my  people  don't  find  you  good  enough  to  eat 
with  them.  Perhaps  you  are  hungry.  Sit  down  here 
and  try  my  en  cas  de  nuit"  (a  provision  made  in  the 
evening  in  case  the  royal  appetite  should  suddenly  require 
satisfaction  during  the  night).  Then  cutting  a  chicken 
and  ordering  Moliere  to  be  seated,  the  King  helped  him 
to  a  wing,  took  one  himself,  and  gave  orders  that  the 
most  favoured  personages  of  the  court  be  admitted. 

"  You  see,  I  am  making  Moliere  eat  something,"  said 
Louis,  "  for  my  valets  de  chambre  don't  find  him  good 
enough  company  for  them." 

This  is  the  incident  known  as  the  en  cas  de  nuit.  It  is 
classed  as  legendary  because  it  was  first  told  in  print  in 
1823  by  a  certain  Madame  Campan,  whose  father-in-law 
heard  it  from  an  old  physician  of  Louis  XIV,  whom  she 
failed  to  name ;  and  because  decorous  little  Saint-Simon 
assures  us  that,  "  save  with  the  army,  the  King  never  ate 
with  any  man,  not  even  a  prince  of  the  blood."  How- 
ever, as  M.  Moland  aptly  says,  "there  are  always  excep- 
tions to  the  most  positive  of  protocols."  Ingres,  Gerome, 
and  Vetter  have  painted  the  scene ;  no  archaeologist  may 
destroy  its  charm.  Let  this  human  incident  remain, — 
it  is  far  too  delightful  to  be  banished  by  evidence  no 
more  tangible  than  mere  conjecture !  * 

1  M.  Gustave  Larroumet  (La  Comedle  de  Moliere)  calls  attention  to 
the  fact  that  the  valets  de  cbambre  tapissier  did  not  eat  at  the  palace  with 
the  valets  de  chambre,  citing  in  proof  thereof  U  Etat  de  la  France,  and 
thus  adding,  "it  must  be  confessed  a  strong  argument  against  the  verisi- 


i88  MOLIERE 

When  the  marquesses  were  convinced  that  Moliere 
could  not  be  undermined  in  the  royal  favour,  they  paid 
him  court  with  all  the  superciliousness  of  their  caste. 
"  These  gentlemen/'  says  De  Vize,1  "  often  invited  him 
to  dine,  but,  as  those  who  believe  in  their  own  merit 
never  lack  vanity,  he  returned  all  the  cheer  he  received, 
his  wit  making  him  pass  on  a  par  with  many  people  far 
above  him." 

He  was,  perhaps,  the  first  actor  since  classic  days  to 
knock  at  society's  door.  Considering  the  obloquy  the 
church  had  cast  upon  his  calling,  his  success  was  remark- 
able. Even  Saint-Simon,  whose  breviary  was  precedence, 
bears  witness  to  it  in  an  amusing  anecdote  he  tells  about 
Julie  d'Angennes'  husband,  the  Due  de  Montausier. 
This  austere  nobleman,  it  seems,  having  heard  he  had 
been  travestied  in  T^he  Misanthrope^  was  furious  until  he 
saw  the  piece  played ;  whereupon,  feeling  it  an  honour 
to  be  likened  to  Alceste,  the  hero,  he  sent  for  the  author. 
Moliere  appeared  with  much  perturbation  ;  but  the  duke 
ran  to  embrace  him,  and,  supper  being  announced,  the 
actor  was  invited  to  share  it.  To  quote  Saint-Simon : 
"  Moliere,  who  had  supped  more  than  once  with  young 
lords  during  some  gay  carouse,  had  never  eaten,  in  other 
circumstances,  even  with  them ;  much  less  with  a  man 
of  the  dignity,  age,  position,  and  austerity  of  Monsieur 
de  Montausier."2 

Saint-Simon  makes  it  apparent  that  the  cabaret  was 
the  only  meeting-ground  for  the  stage  and  society  ;  there- 
fore it  is  easier  to  understand  Moliere's  persistence  in 

militude  of  this  incident ;  for  if  Moliere  did  not  eat  with  the  gentlemen  of 
the  court,  there  was  no  cause  for  them  to  refuse  to  sit  at  table  with  him." 

1  Nouvelles  nouvellfs. 

2  E frits  in  edits  de  Saint-Simon. 


MOLlfiRE   THE   COURTIER  189 

making  the  King's  bed.  Besides  asserting  his  birth- 
right, he  thus  obtained  an  insight  into  court  life ;  for,  if 
he  dearly  loved  a  lord,  like  Thackeray  he  dearly  loved  to 
paint  one.  Posterity  should  be  grateful  that  he  smoothed 
the  King's  sheets ;  for  as  the  great  English  satirist  him- 
self said  of  the  Frenchman's  masterful  portraits,  "What 
fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  Moliere  represents  !  "  1 

"In  catering  to  the  wishes  of  kings,"  our  poet  told 
his  actors,  "we  should  never  consider  ourselves,  since  we 
exist  only  to  please  them."  This  doctrine  is  repeated 
here  as  its  author's  own  excuse  for  the  inferior  quality  of 
his  court  comedies  and  ballets.  According  to  a  state- 
ment in  an  earlier  chapter,  the  obsequious  period  of  his 
art  was  closely  allied  with  the  Gallic  in  point  of  time ; 
but,  more  correctly  speaking,  its  inception  took  place 
then,  for  time-serving  plays  appear  in  both  the  militant 
and  histrionic  periods.  Indeed,  these  court  comedies 
were  Moliere's  quick  responses  to  the  King's  "  imme- 
diate desires,"  —  in  other  words,  a  courtier's  artifice. 

The  Bores,  written  to  order  in  fifteen  days,  is  a  pleasing 
example  of  these  court  plays  ;  for  it  has  distinct  charm, 
—  a  quality  lacking  in  The  Forced  Marriage  (Le  Mariage 
force),  the  play  which  followed  The  Versailles  Impromptu. 
Styled  a  comedy  ballet,  but  in  reality  a  one-act  farce  in 
prose,  The  Forced  Marriage,  as  Voltaire  justly  says,  is 
"  more  remarkable  for  buffoonery  than  for  either  art  or 
charm."  2  Save  for  a  few  touches  of  Rabelaisian  mirth, 
it  might  pass  for  a  crude  canevas  of  Moliere's  youth. 
When  presented  at  the  Louvre  in  Anne  of  Austria's 
apartment,  January  twenty-ninth,  1664,  this  play  so 
pleased  the  royal  family  that  it  was  repeated  before  the 

1  The  Virginians. 

2  Vie  de  Moliere  avec  des  jugements  sur  ses  ouvrages* 


\ 


i9o  MOLIERE 

court  three  times  within  a  fortnight,  —  a  success  due  to 
the  King's  appearance  as  a  gypsy  in  one  of  the  ballet 
interludes,  danced  to  Lully's  music.1  Although  given, 
to  quote  La  Grange,  "  with  the  ballet  and  ornaments," 
The  Forced  Marriage,  when  placed  upon  the  boards  of 
the  Palais  Royal,  February  fifteenth,  was  without  the 
allurement  of  Louis'  dancing;  so  the  receipts  dwindled 
from  some  twelve  hundred  livres  at  the  first  public  per- 
formance to  barely  two  hundred  at  the  twelfth,  when  it 
was  withdrawn. 

In  June  of  the  following  year  (1665)  Moliere  went  to 
Versailles  with  his  company  and  presented  The  Favourite 
(Le  Favori)  —  a  comedy  by  Mile,  des  Jardins  —  upon  an 
at  fresco  stage.  This  performance  was  heightened  by  his 
own  appearance  in  the  audience  disguised  as  a  ridiculous 
marquess,  who,  despite  the  prearranged  efforts  of  the 
guards  to  suppress  him,  carried  on  a  humorous  conver- 
sation with  one  of  the  actresses  in  the  play,  —  a  bit  of 
theatrical  by-play  still  current  upon  our  own  stage.2 

Although  Moliere  was  ever  thus  ready  to  amuse  his  King, 
the  failure  of  'The  Forced  Marriage  should  have  convinced 
him  of  the  fallibility  of  his  doctrine  that  "  in  catering 
to  the  wishes  of  monarchs  we  must  never  consider  our- 

1  Giovanni   Battista  Lully  (or  Lulli)  was  a  Florentine  composer  and 
violinist,  who,  joining  the  Royal  French   Orchestra  in  1650,  was  soon 
thereafter  appointed  Director  of  Music  to  Louis  XIV.      He  composed  the 
music  for  Moliere's  comedy  ballets,  until,  receiving  in    1672  the  privi- 
lege of  establishing  a  Royal  Academy  of  Music,  he  became  so  dictatorial 
and  so  tenacious  of  his  rights  that  he  opposed  the  productions  of  pieces 
with   incidental  music  by  theatrical  companies,  thus   forcing  Moliere  to 
seek  the  services  of  another  composer  (Charpentier)  when  writing  his  last 
comedy  ballet  (The  Imaginary  Invalid^.     Lully  composed  twenty  operas, 
and  may  justly  be  called  the  founder  of  the  French  lyric  drama. 

2  La  Grange's  Regis tre.      Le  Molieriste>  April,  1881. 


MOLIERE   THE   COURTIER  191 

selves."  Yet  his  desire  to  please  Louis  at  all  hazards 
was  so  great  that  the  first  act  of  his  next  effort,  T'he  Prin- 
cess of  Elis  (La  Princess  a* Elide),  and  one  scene  of  the 
second,  are  in  Alexandrian  verse,  whereas  prose  is  the 
vehicle  for  the  remainder,  —  a  perfunctory  treatment, 
one  is  tempted  to  say  slip-shod,  thus  excused  by  the  poet 
in  his  Preface : 

The  author's  intention  was  to  treat  the  entire  comedy 
in  verse ;  but  a  command  from  the  King  so  hastened  its 
completion  that  he  was  obliged  to  finish  the  remainder 
in  prose  and  pass  lightly  over  several  scenes  he  would 
have  expanded  further  had  he  possessed  more  leisure. 

Hasty  though  it  be  in  workmanship,  its  conceptive 
charm  entitles  The  Princess  of  Elis  to  a  higher  rank  than 
falls  to  the  lot  of  many  of  the  author's  court  plays.  The 
scene  is  in  an  imaginary  Greece,  the  heroine  a  young 
Diana  roaming  the  forest  in  contempt  of  the  wooers  her 
father  has  gathered  at  his  court,  until  Euryale,  a  prince  of 
Ithaca,  makes  use  of  her  own  weapon,  scorn.  In  the 
lovers1  battle-royal  which  ensues,  victory  hovers  over 
the  contestant  appearing  to  seek  her  least,  until  finally  the 
contumelious  princess  becomes  a  truly  feminine  victim 
of  love. 

Pastoral  comedy  was  strange  ground  to  Moliere,  yet 
this  fanciful  excursion  therein  is  so  delightful  that  he 
might  well  have  tarried  longer  "  under  the  greenwood 
tree."  Had  he  known  Shakespeare,  he  would  be  open 
to  the  suspicion  of  having  found  "  his  property  "  on  the 
banks  of  the  Avon ;  for  Elis  is  an  imaginary  realm  like 
unto  Bohemia,  and  Moron  the  jester,  played  by  him- 
self, a  cousin-german  to  Touchstone;  moreover  the 
princess  is  a  heroine  whose  charm  is  truly  Shakespearian, 


192  MOLlfiRE 

and  Euryale  a  lover  quite  as  romantic  as  Orlando  or 
Florizel.  In  this  instance,  however,  the  poet  borrowed 
from  a  Spanish  comedy  by  Augustin  Moreto,  called 
Scorn  with  Scorn  (El  Desden  con  el  desden\  a  title  which 
strikes  the  key-note  of  both  plays. 

^The  Princess  of  Elis  was  styled  "  a  gallant  comedy 
interspersed  with  music  and  ballet  interludes,"  —  a  sub- 
title justified  by  six  ballets,  wherein  musicians,  bears, 
huntsmen,  whippers-in,  satyrs,  and  shepherdesses  danced 
and  sang  to  music  by  Lully,  and  incidentally  abetted 
Moron  the  jester  in  his  love  for  Phyllis  the  princess's 
maid.  Indeed,  the  play  must  have  been  written  to  a 
great  extent  around  these  interludes ;  for  it  was  designed, 
primarily,  to  grace  an  alfresco  fete. 

No  royal  demesne  could  yet  vie  with  Vaux-le-Vicomte. 
To  eclipse  the  superintendent's  achievement,  the  young 
monarch  began  to  embellish  his  father's  hunting-box  at 
Versailles ;  but  so  great  was  the  outlay  that  Colbert  re- 
monstrated, saying,  "  Ah,  what  a  pity  it  would  be  should 
the  greatest  of  kings,  the  most  virtuous,  in  the  true  virtue 
which  makes  the  greatest  princes,  be  measured  by  the 
ell  of  Versailles !  "  Colbert's  letter  was  certainly  pro- 
phetic; for  Louis,  despite  the  really  glorious  achieve- 
ments of  his  reign,  is  gauged  by  this  ell. 

In  1664,  however,  it  was  a  modest  measure.  Only  the 
central  portion  of  the  palace  was  built ;  the  park  covered 
only  a  fraction  of  its  present  extent ;  and  of  the  marvel- 
lous fountains  and  canals  the  Basin  of  Apollo  had  alone 
been  dug.  Still,  there  was  a  zoological  garden,  and  an 
orangery  embellished  by  twelve  hundred  or  more  of 
Fouquet's  own  trees ;  so  Versailles  was  sufficiently  im- 
posing to  warrant  Louis'  choice  of  it  as  the  scene  of  a 


MOLIERE   THE    COURTIER  193 

series  of  fetes  designed  to  outshine  the  superintendent's 
ill-starred  magnificence.1 

These  were  held  in  May,  1664,  anc*  lasting  an  entire 
week,  were  known  as  "  The  Pleasures  of  the  Enchanted 
Isle"  (Les  Plaisirs dej? lie  enchant ee}.  Heretofore  Bense- 
rade  had  been  charged  with  the  creatiorTof  court  festivals  ; 
but  on  this  occasion  the  Due  de  Saint-Aignan,  master 
of  ceremonies,  had  recourse  to  Moliere.  The  subject 
chosen  was  Ariosto's  account,  in  Orlando  Furioso,  of 
Ruggiero  the  paladin's  sojourn  in  the  island  palace  of 
Alcina  the  enchantress.  The  King  was  allotted  the  part 
of  Ruggiero,  his  courtiers  each  assuming  a  character  in 
the  Italian  poem  until  every  knight  had  found  his 
counterpart.2 

A  circular  meadow  was  chosen  as  the  site  of  Alcina's 
palace,  and  at  each  entrance  a  portico  bearing  the  royal 
arms  was  erected.  There  was  a  dais,  too,  for  Anne  of 
Austria  and  Maria  Theresa;  since  true-hearted  Louise 
de  la  Valliere,  though  playing  the  role  of  Bradamante, 
adored  of  Ruggiero,  was  prevented  by  etiquette  from 
being  crowned  queen  of  the  festival. 

"  The  Pleasures  of  the  Enchanted  Isle  "  began  on  the 
first  night  at  the  twilight  hour,  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets 
and  drums  to  herald  a  king-at-arms,  gorgeous  in  crimson 
and  silver.  With  him  rode  the  pages  of  Ruggiero,  of 
the  earl  marshal,  and  of  the  judge  of  the  lists,  bearing 
their  masters'  shields  and  lances.  Mounted  trumpeters 

1  La  Creation  de  Versailles,  by  Pierre  de  Nolhac. 

2  A  complete  description  of  this   astonishing   spectacle,  entitled  Les 
Plaisirs  de  rile  encbantee,    was   published    in  1664,    and   Marigny,   a 
writer  of  the  day,  has  left  a  spirited  account  of  it  (Relation  de  Marigny) ; 
while  a  series  of  engravings  by  Israel  Sylvestre  gives  a  wonderfully  clear 
impression  of  the  mise-en-scene. 

13 


I94  MOLlfiRE 

and  kettle-drummers  followed,  their  banderols  and  tim- 
brels glittering  with  blazoned  suns  of  gold ;  then  came 
the  earl  marshal,  the  Due  de  Saint-Aignan,  himself,  armed 
a  la  grecque  with  dragoned  helm  and  silver  corselet  In 
his  wake  rode  more  trumpeters,  sounding  a  fanfaron  of 
joy  to  herald  Louis.  Resplendent  in  jewels  and  in  gold, 
he  appeared,  followed  by  his  paladins.  In  the  words  of 
an  anonymous  chronicler,  "  his  bearing  was  worthy  of  his 
rank;  for  never  had  an  air  more  free  and  martial  placed 
a  mortal  above  his  fellow-men."  * 

Hardly  had  the  loyal  acclamations  of  Louis'  subjects 
died  away,  when  Milet,  his  coachman,  arrayed  as  Father 
Time,  drove  Apollo's  chariot  upon  the  scene,  his  vehicle 
gorgeous  in  azure  and  gold.  The  divinity  was  the  young 
comedian  La  Grange ;  the  Ages  of  Gold,  Silver,  Bronze, 
and  Iron,grouped  at  his  feet,  were  Mile.  Moliere  (Armande 
Bejart),  M.  Hubert,2  Mile,  de  Brie,  and  M.  du  Croisy,  all 
of  Moliere's  company,  —  a  triumph  for  the  Palais  Royal 
theatre  which  caused  a  spectator  to  suggest  that  if  Father 
Time  overturned  Apollo's  chariot,  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne  would  be  easily  consoled.3  Indeed,  the  royal 
troupe  had  cause  for  jealousy,  since  not  a  single  member 
graced  this  fete.  But  Apollo's  chariot  did  not  over- 
turn ;  so  Moliere's  actresses  —  "  barn-stormers  "  barely 
six  years  before  —  triumphed  over  their  rivals  and  recited 
verses  in  adulation  of  the  queen. 

A  ring  tilting  contest  followed,  lasting  till    darkness 

1  Les  P/aisirs  de  /'  lie  encbantee. 

2  An  actor  from  the  Theatre  du  Marais,  who  had  just  joined  Mo- 
liere's forces,    noted  both  as  a  female  impersonator    and   as  the  author 
of  the  Registre  de  Hubert,  a  chronicle  of  the  company  during  the  years 
1672-73. 

8  Relation  de  Marigny. 


MOLIERE   THE   COURTIER  195 

fell ;  then  a  myriad  lights  blazed  upon  the  scene,  while 
Lully,  Orpheus  of  the  day,  entered  with  a  choir  of 
singers,  marching  to  the  cadence  of  their  instruments, 
and  followed  by  a  grotesque  cavalcade  depicting  the 
four  seasons.  The  beautiful  Du  Pare,  mounted  on  an 
Andalusian  palfrey,  represented  Spring;  Summer  was 
her  fat  husband,  Gros  Rene,  riding,  appropriately,  on  an 
elephant ;  Autumn,  La  Thorilliere,  astride  a  camel ;  and 
Winter,  Louis  Bejart,  mounted  on  a  bear,  —  a  whimsi- 
cal stable,  made  possible  by  the  proximity  of  the  royal 
menagerie.  Gardeners,  harvesters,  vintagers,  and  patri- 
archs escorted  these  masquerading  players;  and  a  sylvan 
float,  heralded  by  hautboys  and  flutes,  appeared,  mov- 
ing by  imperceptible  means,  with  Moliere  perched  in  its 
topmost  branches  as  the  great  god  Pan,  and  his  wife  as 
Diana,  queen  of  the  night. 

When  these  woodland  deities  had  recited  verses  to  the 
queen,  a  ballet  symbolical  of  the  Hours  of  the  Day  and 
the  Signs  of  the  Zodiac  was  danced  to  Lully's  measures ; 
meantime  the  comptrollers  of  the  King's  household  laid 
tables  weighed  with  "  laughter,  sport,  and  delight  "  —  a 
contemporary  way  of  saying  good  things  —  before  the 
royal  dais ;  whereupon  their  Majesties  and  the  attend- 
ants partook  of  a  banquet  "  whose  magnificence,"  in  the 
words  of  a  chronicler,  "  was  comparable  to  the  ancient 
feasts  of  the  gods."  l 

Moved  to  a  woodland  dell  on  the  second  day,  Alcina's 
palace  became  a  verdant  theatre;  and  there,  when  the 
sun  had  set,  Ruggiero  and  his  valiant  paladins  were  re- 
galed by  The  Princess  of  Elis.  The  title  role  of  this 
comedy  was  filled  by  Armande  Bejart,  Moliere  playing 
Moron  the  jester.  In  an  engraving  of  the  scene  Israel 
1  Relation  de  Marigny. 


196  MOLlfiRE 

Sylvestre  depicts  a  stage  as  wide  as  that  of  the  Milanese 
Scala,  with  a  depth  surpassing  it.  The  actors  wear  flow- 
ing robes  and  plumed  helmets  —  the  pseudo-classic  cos- 
tume of  the  time  —  and  the  trains  of  the  actresses  are 
carried  by  pages  ;  so  the  ballet  interludes,  wherein  bears, 
huntsmen,  fauns,  and  shepherdesses  abetted  Moliere's 
buffooneries,  were  certainly  in  marked  contrast  to  this 
stateliness.  Yet,  according  to  a  contemporary,  the  audi- 
ence found  the  performance  "so  excellent,  complete, 
and  delightful  "  that  this  apparent  temerity  proved  sound 
theatrical  judgment. 

On  the  third  day  Mile,  du  Pare,  representing  Alcina 
the  sorceress,  and  Miles.  Moliere1  and  de  Brie,  as  two 
nymphs,  floated  about  the  basin  now  dedicated  to  Apollo, 
on  the  backs  of  huge  wooden  sea  monsters,  and  recited 
verses  in  honour  of  Anne  of  Austria,  —  a  diversion  fol- 
lowed by  a  ballet  of  giants,  dwarfs,  and  demons  dancing 
to  the  strains  of  the  royal  violins.  Meantime  Alcina's 
palace,  built  upon  a  rocky  isle,  blazed  forth  in  fireworks 
so  magnificent  that  the  spectators  believed  "  the  sky, 
the  earth,  and  the  water  all  were  ablaze !  " 

This  final  burst  of  pyrotechnic  glory  ended  "  The 
Pleasures  of  the  Enchanted  Isle  "  ;  but  the  King  tarried 
on  at  Versailles,  cutting  the  Turk's  head  a  I'allemande^  and 
distributing  costly  gifts  to  the  ladies  by  means  of  a  lottery. 
In  these  supplemental  gaieties  Moliere  played  an  impor- 
tant role.  On  Sunday,  May  eleventh,  The  Bores  was  per- 
formed in  a  salon  of  the  palace,  with  ballet  interludes 
danced  to  music  by  Beauchamp ;  on  the  following  day 
the  first  three  acts  of  The  Hypocrite  (Le  Tartuffe)  were 

1  After  her  marriage  Armande  Bejart  was  known  as  Mile.  Moliere,  the 
word  Mademoiselle  being  used  to  describe  married  women  of  lesser  rank  ; 
Madame  being  confined  to  ladies  of  the  court. 


MOLlfiRE   THE   COURTIER  197 

presented,  while  on  Tuesday,  the  thirteenth,  The  Forced 
Marriage  was  given.1 

Moliere's  triumph  was  now  complete,  his  hold  upon 
the  King's  favour  firmly  established.  In  August,  1665, 
Louis  granted  his  troupe  an  annual  pension  of  six  thou- 
sand livres,  but  of  far  more  significance^  was  his  request 
to  Monsieur  that  the  patronage  of  Moliere's  company 
be  ceded  to  him.  Henceforth  the  Palais  Royal  players 
were  known  as  "  The  Xing' s  Troupe,"  and,  the  com- 
pany of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  being  styled  "The 
Royal  Troupe,"  it  is  apparent  that  in  thus  distinguish- 
ing Moliere's  organisation  Louis  desired  to  indicate  his 
personal  consideration  and  proprietorship. 

At  every  royal  fete  the  actor  poet  —  a  veritable  buf- 
foon laureate  —  was  expected  to  provide  cleverness  and 
mirth.  His  numerous  comedy  ballets  were  all  written 
for  such  a  purpose.  In  September,  1665,  he  composed 
in  five  days  a  three-act  prose  comedy  of  this  nature,  called 
Love  as  a  Doctor  (L?  Amour  medecin\  which  was  performed 
at  Versailles.  In  December  of  the  following  year  Meli- 
certe,  —  styled  An  Heroic  Pastoral,  —  only  two  acts  of 
which  were  completed,  was  played  at  a  fete  at  St.  Ger- 
main, known  as  "  The  Ballet  of  the  Muses  "  ;  while  a 
comic  pastoral  from  his  pen  and  a  comedy  ballet  entitled 
The  Sicilian ;  or,  Love  as  a  Painter  (Le  Sicilien  ou  I  *  Amour 
peintre)  were  also  presented  on  this  occasion.  The  last 
of  these  Voltaire  called  the  first  one-act  piece  in  the  lan- 
guage "  possessing  both  grace  and  charm  "  ;  still  it  is  but 
an  agreeable  trifle  which  might  serve  as  a  framework  for 
an  opera  bouffe. 

1  The  Hypocrite  forms  the  subject  of  the  ensuing  chapter.  The  part 
played  by"  The  Pleasures  of  the  Enchanted  Isle  "  in  Moliere's  domestic 
affairs  is  treated  fully  in  Chapter  XIII. 


198  MOLlfcRE 

Jn  1668  a  fete  rivalling  "The  Pleasures  of  the  En- 
chanted Tsle  "  was  held  at  Versailles  in  celebration  of  the 
conclusion  of  the  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle.  On  this  oc- 
casion Louis  spent  a  hundred  thousand  livres  in  a  single 
evening,  and  Moliere  provided  a  comedy  which,  in  the 
precious  language  of  Mile,  de  Scudery,  "  was  interspersed 
with  the  most  surprising  and  marvellous  symphony  ever 
known,  in  which  several  scenes  were  sung  by  the  most 
beautiful  voices  in  the  entire  world,  and  with  divers  amus- 
ing ballets."  This  comedy  was  George  Dandiny  that  de-  // 
lightful  satire  upon  peasants  who  wish  to  rise  above  their 
station.  For  the  fete  held  at  Chambord,  in  1669, 
Moliere  wrote  Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnacy  the  original  of 
many  succeeding  farces  in  which  a  country  lout  has  the 
temerity  to  court  a  pretty  girl  ;  and  in^  the  year  following  J  (# 
the  King  himself  suggested  the  subject  for  a  five-act 
comedy,  with  ballet  interludes,  known  as  The  Magnificent 
Lovers  (Les  Amants  magnifiques).  This  collaboration  with 
Louis  perhaps  accounts  for  the  stilted  dulness  of  this 
later  play,  —  the  most  uninteresting  in  the  entire  range 
of  Moliere's  work.  In  1670,  too,  The  Burgher  y  a  Gentle- 
many  the  only  one  of  Moliere's  comedy  ballets,  save  Tbe 
Imaginary  Invalid  y  that  takes  high  rank  among  his  works, 
was  produced  before  the  court  at  Chambord  ;  and  in 
_Psycbey  a  so-called  tragedy  ballet  dealing  with 


Cupid's  familiar  love  story,  was  put  forth  hurriedly  for 
the  carnival.4-  This  latter  play  is  perhaps  the  most  re- 
markable piere  of  collaboration  in  dramatic  literature. 
Moliere  had  time  only  to  sketch  the  idea  and  indite  a 
part  of  the  verses  ;  so  Corneille  was  called  upon  to  fin- 
ish them,  while  Quinault  wrote  the  words  to  the  songs, 
and  Lully  the  music.  Again,  at  St.  Germain  in  1671, 
The  Comtesse  d*Escarbagnasy  a  one-act  comedy  balfet, 


MOLIERE  THE   COURTIER  199 

was  produced  before  the  court.  Tbe^Imaginary  Invalid* 
however,  though  intended  for  court  production,  was  first 
presented  at  the  Palais  Royal. 

Tin_  i  " "     i-     '«""*"  -;;  -  -  --  • .  -  .._. — ^HMiMm 

George  Dandin,  'The  Burgher,  a  Gentlemany  and  The 
Comfesse  d'Escarbagnas,  though  first  produced  at  court, 
are  comedies  of  such  distinctive  merit  that  they  fall  more 
naturally  within  the  category  of  histrionic  plays  which  form 
the  topic  of  a  succeeding  chapter,  while  Love  as  a  Doctor 
and  The  Imaginary  Invalid,  so  essentially  a  part  of  the  per- 
sistent warfare  Moliere  waged  against  the  quackery  of  his 
time,  are  militant  comedies,  treated  in  the  chapter  devoted 
to  Moliere  and  the  physicians.  The  others,  Melicerte, 
The  Sicilian,  The  Magnificent  Lovers,  and  Psyche,  neither 
Gallic  in  subject  nor  Molieresque  in  treatment,  because 
lacking  in  the  quality  of  truth,  the  hallmark  of  Moliere's 
genius,  are  undeserving  of  special  comment  here. 

This  recital  of  Moliere's  court  plays  should  indicate 
how  thoroughly  he  merited  his  pension ;  not  for  the 
surpassing  nature  of  this  form  of  work  so  much  as  for 
his  readiness  "  to  respond  quickly  to  the  King's  imme- 
diate wishes."  Indeed,  these  comedy  ballets  may  be 
passed  by  with  the  assurance  that  they  present  ample 
evidence  of  the  poet's  sincerity  in  believing  that  "  even 
though  one  be  ashamed  of  not  having  succeeded  entirely, 
one  always  has  the  glory  of  having  promptly  obeyed  the 
King's  behest." 

His  court  plays  gave  him  the  opportunity  of  winning 
his  monarch's  good  will,  while  in  fulfilling  his  functions 
as  valet  de  chambre,  he  was  brought  in  personal  contact 
with  the  King,  and,  being  a  shrewd  observer,  he  might 
readily  have  seized  an  opportune  moment  to  advance  his 
fortunes.  Yet  his  regard  for  Louis  was  something  more 
than  a  courtier's  stratagem.  In  the  words  of  M.  Bazin : 


2OO 


MOLIERE 


From  the  moment  these  two  men,  placed  so  far  apart 
in  the  social  order,  saw  and  understood  each  other  —  the 
one  a  king  freed  from  all  restraint,  the  other  an  unequalled 
comedian  but  still  timid  moralist  —  a  tacit  understanding 
was  established  between  them,  permitting  the  subject  to 
dare  everything,  and  promising  him  full  assurance  and 
protection  upon  the  sole  condition  that  the  monarch  be 
amused.  .  .  .  He,  to  whom  all  things  were  thus  per- 
mitted, was  no  knight-errant,  fulfilling  his  mission  at  his 
proper  risk  and  peril,  exposed  to  vengeance,  and  fearing 
to  be  abandoned  to  his  fate.  A  caprice  of  sovereign 
power,  for  once  enlightened,  gave  him  confidence  and 
strength ;  his  genius  gave  him  the  rest.1 

Although  M.  Gustave  Larroumet3  is  inclined  to 
believe  that  the  protection  Louis  XIV  extended  to 
Moliere  was  slighter  than  that  shown  such  men  as 
Boileau  and  Racine,  still,  as  this  writer  himself  remarks, 
"  We  must  first  of  all  bear  in  mind  the  state  of  public 
opinion  regarding  Moliere.  In  the  eyes  of  his  contem- 
poraries, his  profession  and  the  character  of  his  works 
created  a  notable  difference  between  him  and  other 
poets."  In  other  words,  he  was  an  actor  in  an  age  when  \ 
the  members  of  his  profession  were  social  outcasts.  \ 
That  Louis  was  so  complaisant  regarding  so  many 
trenchant  satires  of  his  courtiers  is  proof  sufficient  that 
Moliere  possessed  the  monarch's  affection  to  a  marked 
degree. 

Shrewd  Mazarin  once  said  of  Louis  that  there  was 
"  the  wherewithal  in  him  for  four  good  kings  and  one 
honest  man."  Though  the  truth  of  the  first  part  of  this 
apothegm  is  apparent,  save  as  regards  the  qualifying 
adjective,  the  wherewithal  for  the  one  honest  man  might 

1  Notes  bistoriques  sur  la  vie  de  Moliere. 

2  La  Com'edie  de  Moliere. 


MOLIERE   THE   COURTIER  201 

be  a  matter  of  considerable  doubt  were  it  not  for  the 
King's  generous  treatment  of  his  favourite  comedian. 
"  Laughter,"  says  Carlyle, "  is  the  cipher-key  wherewith 
we  decipher  the  whole  man  "  ;  and  it  was  the  talent  of 
the  one  to  kindle,  and  of  the  other  to  be  warmed  by,  the 
fire  of  honest  fun  which  made  these  geniuses  of  comedy 
and  kingship  each  understand  the  other. 


202  MOLIERE 


XII 

THE   POET   MILITANT 


;„ 


Les  Precieuses  ridicules  Moliere,  ceasing  to  be  Italian, 
became  truly  Gallic ;  in  'The  Hypocrite  (Le  Tartuffe) 
knight-errantry  appears^  Cant  is  the  enemy,  mocking 
portraiture  the  lance;  yet  the  play  is  not  quixotic,  for 
the  poet's  knighthood  lies  solely  in  the  boldness  of  his 
attack  upon  false  piety  at  a  moment  when  pharisaism 
was  abroad  in  the  land.  The  first  three  of  this  play's 
five  acts  were  produced  at  Versailles  during  the  fete 
known  as  "  The  Pleasures  of  the  Enchanted  Isle,"  and 
so  great  was  the  animosity  they  inspired  that  five  years 
elapsed  before  permission  was  obtained  for  a  public 
performance.  To  understand  the  persecution  Moliere 
underwent  at  the  hands  of  the  clericals,  a  cursory  glance 
at  his  inimitable  comedy  is  necessary. 

/  The  scene  is  laid  in  Paris  at  the  house  of  Orgon,  a 
pious  bourgeois  who  has  aroused  the  anger  of  his  family 
bylntroducing  into  its  midst  Tartuffe,  a  canting  devo- 
tee whom  he  has  met  at  church  and  whose  unwitting 
tool  he  has  become.  /Orgon's  mother  alone,  of  all  his 
family,  has  been  deceived  by  this  hypocrite's  feigned 

jnety.  In  the  opening  scene  the  wife,  daughter,  son, 
brother-in-law,  and  maid-of-all-work  of  the  atrabilious 
master  of  the  house  hold  an  indignant  though  futile 
meeting  to  rid  themselves  of  the  hateful  creature  which 
has  fastened  his  tentacles  upon  them. 


THE   POET   MILITANT  203 

Madame  Pernelle,  the  stubborn  mother,  Elmire,  the 
artfuL-wife  whose  worldly  knowledge  is  her  safeguard, 
Mariane,  the  timid  daughter,  Damis,  the  impetuous  son, 
Cleante,  the  sane  and  honest  brother-in-law  —  "the 
opposite  of  Tartuffe,"  to  quote  Sainte-Beuve,  "  his 
counterweight"  —  each  is  a  human  type  as  distinct  as 
consummate  art  can  paint  it.  Jjorine,  too,  —  the  confi- 
dential  slave  of  classic  comedy  metamorphosed  into  a 
family  servant,  —  is  a  character  frank  and  sprightly 
enough  to  test  the  powers  of  even  the  cleverest  sou- 
brette;  while  Valere,  Mariane's  suitor,  with  his  flavour 
of  the  court,  adds  the  note  of  distinction  so  necessary 
irTTmnging  the  bourgeoisie1  of  this  household  into  the 
high  light. 

The  most  striking  character  is,  of  course,  Tartuffe, 
the  hypocrite.  The  manner  of  his  introduction  is  in- 
deed ingenious.  Throughout  two  acts  he  is  only 
spoken  of  by  the  other  characters ;  yet  his  presence  is 
always  felt,  and  so  great  is  the  animosity  created  toward 
him  that,  when  he  finally  appears,  one  is  only  too  ready 
to  join  the  cabal  against  him.  For  instance,  after  the 
family  conference  has  come  to  naught,  Dorine  tells 
Cleante  that  Orgon,  his  brother-in-law, 

Since  by  Tartuffe  beguiled  is  like  a  dolt. 
He  calls  him  brother,  and  his  love  for  him 
Is  full  a  hundredfold  more  deep  than  love 
For  mother,  daughter,  wife,  or  only  son. 
He  is  his  one  fond  gossip,  in  good  sooth, 

1  M.  Ch.  L.  Livet,  writing  in  the  Moli'eriste,  February,  1880,  makes 
an  interesting  argument  to  prove  that  both  Orgon  and  Tartuffe  were 
gentlemen  of  the  court.  The  present  writer,  however,  holds  to  the 
bourgeoisie  of  this  family, —  certainly  a  servant  of  the  type  of  Dorine 
could  be  found  only  in  a  middle  class  household. 


204  MOLlfiRE 

The  circumspect  director  of  his  deeds, 

Whom  he  caresses,  hugs  more  tenderly, 

I  swear,  than  any  mistress  might  expect. 

At  table  in  the  foremost  seat  he  's  placed, 

And  joyfully  he  sees  him  eat  for  six  ; 

Makes  others  cede  him  all  the  choicest  bits, 

And  if  he  belches,  cries,  ««  God  bless  you,  friend  !" 

In  short,  he  is  a  fool,  whose  only  hero 

Is  this  one  man  who  has  become  his  all ; 

Whose  every  word  he  hangs  upon  or  quotes 

As  from  an  oracle,  whose  slightest  act 

Appears  to  him  a  miracle  divine. 

The  other,  knowing  well  his  dupe,  makes  most 

Of  him,  confounding  him  in  fivescore  ways, 

And  dazzling  him  so  shrewdly  that  each  hour 

He  pharisaically  steals  his  coin, 

Boldly  proclaiming  right  to  chide  us  all. 

This  sanctimonious  scoundrel's  portrait  is  again  painted 
when  Orgon  himself,  returning  from  a  visit  to  the 
country,  inquires  anxiously  after  his  beloved  friend,  and, 
learning  from  Dorine  that  "  he  is  marvellously  well,  — 
fat,  sleek,  with  ruddy  cheek  and  rosy  lip,"  exclaims 
most  tenderly,  "  Poor  man  !  "  Hearing  that  his  wife  had 
no  appetite  the  previous  night,  although  Tartuffe,  sup- 
ping with  her  tete-a-tete,  devoutly  ate  a  brace  of  par- 
tridges and  half  a  leg  of  hashed  mutton,  the  dupe  again 
cries,  "  Poor  man  ! "  and  when  he  learns  that  although 
his  wife  was  bled,  Tartuffe  bore  the  ordeal  so  nobly  that 
he  drank  four  draughts  of  wine  to  make  up  for  the  blood 
she  had  lost,  he  exclaims  in  one  final  outburst  of  com- 
passion, "  Poor  man  !  " 

To  realise  fully  the  insidious  way  in  which  the  canting 
villain  of  this  play  has  hoodwinked  his  benefactor,  one 
must  turn  to  the  description  Orgon  gives  Cleante,  his 
brother-in-law,  of  their  first  meeting: 


THE    POET    MILITANT  205 

You  would  be  glad  to  know  him,  brother  dear,  — 

Your  ecstasy  would  never  have  an  end. 

He  is  a  man  . . .  who  ...  ah  !  ...  a  man  . ..  a  man 

In  short,  who  following  his  precepts  well 

Enjoys  a  mind  of  perfect  peace,  and  treats 

The  world  as  so  much  dirt.     Since  converse  with  him 

I  *m  wholly  changed.     He  separates  my  soul 

From  friendships  dear,  instructing  me  to  love 

Nothing  of  earth  ;  so  with  least  pain  I  *d  bear 

The  death  of  brother,  mother,  children,  wife. 

CL&ANTE 
My  brother,  those  are  human  sentiments  ! 

ORGON 

Ah,  had  you  seen  him  as  I  saw  him  first 

With  me  you  would  have  shared  this  love  profound! 

Each  day  to  church  he  came  with  humble  air 

To  kneel  and  face  me,  draw  the  eyes  of  all 

Upon  him  by  the  fervour  of  his  prayers 

To  God.     He  sighed,  and  in  a  transport  deep 

Kissed  him  the  earth  with  ardour  meek,  unceasing, 

Rising  when  I  did,  following  in  my  steps, 

Proffering  holy  water  at  the  door. 

His  serving  lad,  who  imitates  him  well 

In  everything,  told  me  his  poverty, 

And  who  he  was.     I  made  him  little  gifts, 

But,  shrinking,  he  would  e'er  return  a  part. 

"It  is  too  much/'  he  said,  «« too  much  by  half, 

I  am  unworthy  of  your  sympathy,'* 

And  when  I  would  not  take  my  largess  back, 

He  gave  it  to  the  poor,  before  my  eyes. 

At  last,  inspired  by  holy  light,  I  brought 

Him  to  my  house  ;  and  from  that  blessed  day 

All 's  prosperous  here.     He  censures  everything, 

And  even  of  my  honour  takes  great  care ; 

For  when  bold  wooers  glance  upon  my  wife, 

Quick  warning  of  the  peril  comes  to  me  — 

My  jealousy  he  multiplies  sixfold. 


206  MOLIERE 

The  height  to  which  his  zeal  doth  carry  him 
You  *d  scarce  believe  :  within  himself  he  deems 
A  trifle  mortal  sin.     Why,  yesterday, 
He  blamed  himself  for  killing,  while  at  prayer, 
A  flea,  in  anger  too  tempestuous. 

After  presenting  this  picture  of  pharisaism,  Moliere, 
fearing  no  doubt,  its  effect,  is  careful  to  portray  the 
difference  between  hypocrisy  and  piety  in  the  scene 
where  Cleante,  seeking  to  undeceive  his  brother-in-law, 
tells  Orgon  that  — 

Just  as  some  to  bravery  make  pretence, 

So  in  religion  there  are  hypocrites. 

Yet  as  the  hero  makes  but  little  noise 

When  honour  calls,  the  truly  pious  man, 

Whose  footsteps  we  should  tread,  makes  no  grimace. 

This  sane  reasoning  fails,  however,  of  its  object ;  likewise 
Cleante's  efforts  in  behalf  of  Mariane  and  Valere,  the 
lovers  for  whose  happiness  he  had  been  commissioned  in 
an  earlier  scene  to  plead.  When  he  broaches  the  sub- 
ject of  their  marriage,  Tartuffe's  dupe  is  evasive. 
Hinting  that  he  will  fulfil  the  will  of  Heaven  in  dis- 
posing of  his  daughter's  hand,  he  leaves  Cleante  appre- 
hensive of  some  mishap  to  Mariane's  love,  —  a  fear  soon 
realised ;  for  in  an  opening  scene  of  the  second  act 
Orgon  tells  Mariane  that  he  has  selected  Tartuffe  to  be 
her  husband.  This  announcement  causes  Dorine  the 
maid  to  assert  that  "  a  man  who  weds  his  daughter  to  a 
husband  she  loathes  is  responsible  to  Heaven  for  her 
sins  "  ;  yet  in  spite  of  the  wisdom  of  a  doctrine  French 
parents  in  general  might  so  well  take  to  heart,  Orgon 
tells  Mariane: 

In  short,  my  child,  you  must  obedience  pay, 
And  to  my  choice  the  fullest  deference  show. 


THE   POET   MILITANT  207 

Dorine  chides  her  too  submissive  mistress  for  "  per- 
mitting such  a  foolish  proposition  to  be  made  without  a 
protest";  but  Mariane,  a  French jeunefille  par  excellence y 
though  acknowledging  her  love  for  Valere,  prefers  death 
to  disobedience,  because,  to  quote  her  own  words, 

A  father,  I  confess,  such  empery  holds 
No  hardihood  was  mine  to  make  reply. 

Valere,  however,  does  not  so  readily  adhere  to  the  fifth 
commandment.  On  learning  of  his  betrothed's  submis- 
sion to  her  father's  will,  he  parts  from  her  in  high 
dudgeon,  only  to  return,  lover-like,  before  he  is  even  out 
of  the  house,  and  become  reconciled  through  DorineiS 
intervention,  learning  at  the  same  time  from  that  sage 
domestic's  lips  that  "all  lovers  are  fools,"  and  from 
Mariane' s  that  — 

I  cannot  answer  for  my  father's  will ; 
Yet  I  shall  marry  no  one  but  Valere. 

This  reassurance,  accompanied  by  Dorine's  discreet 
suggestion  to  the  lovers  that  "one  had  better  go  this 
way,  and  the  other  that,"  brings  the  second  act  to  a 
close.  The  third  begins  with  a  tempest  of  rage  at  the 
proposed  marriage  of  his  sister,  on  the  part  of  Orgon's 
hotheaded  son,  Damis.  "  May  lightning  finish  me  on 
the  spot ! "  he  exclaims,  "  may  I  be  proclaimed  the 
greatest  rascal  alive,  if  any  respect  or  authority  hinders 
me  from  doing  something  rash.  ...  I  must  stop  this 
fellow's  schemes  ! "  "  Softly,"  whispers  politic  Dorine. 
"  Leave  both  him  and  your  father  to  your  step-mother 
—  she  has  influence  with  Tartuffe.  ...  In  short,  she 
has  sent  for  him  to  sound  him  upon  this  marriage." 

Damis,  insisting  upon  playing  the  eavesdropper  at  this 


208  MOLlfeRE 

interview,  hides  in  a  closet  just  as  Tartuffe  appears  in 
propria  persona.  Throughout  two  acts  this  wretch  has 
hung  in  the  wings  like  a  cresset  of  woe,  shedding  a  bale- 
ful light  upon  the  other  characters.  When  his  voice  is 
heard,  speaking  "  off  stage  "  to  his  servant,  there  is  no 
doubt  that  he  is  Tartuffe,  the  hypocrite: 

My  scourge  and  haircloth  shirt,  you  Ml  put  away ; 
Pray  then  to  Heaven,  Laurent,  for  its  light. 
Should  callers  come,  you  Ml  say  I  'm  at  the  gaol 
Giving  away  the  alms  I  have  received. 

"  What  affectation,  what  boasting ! "  Dorine  exclaims, 
and,  being  about  to  address  him,  Tartuffe  restrains  her 
until  he  has  covered  her  bare  neck  with  his  handkerchief, 
"  lest  by  such  sights  the  soul  be  wounded  and  evil 
thoughts  awakened." 

When  Orgon's  wife  appears,  the  full  depth  of  the 
hypocrite's  perfidy  is  made  apparent.  Being  asked  if  it 
is  true  that  her  husband  wishes  to  give  him  her  step- 
daughter's hand,  he  replies  that  such  a  hint  has  been 
made  him,  but  that  he  "  has  beheld  elsewhere  the  mar- 
vellous attractions  of  the  bliss  which  forms  the  sole  object 
of  his  desires."  His  hypocritical  love-making  and  El- 
mire's  naive  manner  of  extracting  the  secret  of  his  villainy 
are  best  told  in  the  words  of  the  play : 

ELMIRE 

I  know  full  well  your  sighs  toward  Heaven  tend, 
And  nothing  here  below  your  passion  stirs. 

TARTUFFE 

The  love  we  feel  for  everlasting  grace, 
Our  love  for  earthly  beauty  leaves  unquenched. 
By  Heaven's  work,  our  senses  soon  are  charmed 
Most  readily.     Within  your  sex  its  light 


THE  POET   MILITANT  409 

Reflected  shines  :  in  you  its  glories  are 
Displayed ;  for  in  your  face  it  has  disclosed 
Consummate  miracles,  our  eyes  to  dazzle, 
Our  hearts  to  thrill.     O  creature  most  superb, 
I  've  never  seen  your  charms,  but  I  beheld 
The  Author  of  us  all,  and  felt  my  heart 
Beat  hard  with  soul-entrancing  love  for  you, 
The  perfect  portrait  painted  of  Himself. 
At  first  I  felt  this  secret  love  might  prove 
A  devil's  snare  ;  so  fearing  you  might  be 
A  bar  to  my  salvation,  my  poor  heart 
Resolved  your  eyes  so  beautiful  to  spurn. 
That  passion  such  as  mine  could  be  no  sin 
I  knew  at  last,  thou  too  engaging  beauty, 
And  saw  that  I  might  well  conciliate 
My  love  with  purity  ;  and  that  is  how 
My  heart  abandoned  all.     I  know  indeed 
It  is  audacity  beyond  compare 
To  tender  you  that  heart ;  but  I  expect 
From  goodness  such  as  yours,  infinity, 
And  nothing  from  the  weakness  of  my  love. 
My  hope  is  you,  my  peace,  my  happiness  ! 
On  you  depends  my  bliss,  my  torment,  too ; 
For  by  your  sole  decree  my  fate  is  sealed  — 
Happiness  or  misery  as  you  please. 

ELMIRE 

Your  declaration  is,  forsooth,  gallant  ; 
But  most  astounding,  too,  to  say  the  least. 
Far  better  you  should  arm  your  heart,  methinks, 
And  ponder  somewhat  on  your  rash  design. 
A  devotee  like  you,  proclaimed  by  all  — 

TARTUFFE 

Though  devotee,  I  'm  none  the  less  a  man. 
On  first  beholding  beauty  heavenly 
As  yours,  a  heart  will  yield  but  cannot  reason. 
I  know  that  such  discourse  surpassing  strange 
Must  seem  from  me  ;  but  after  all,  Madame, 
I  am  no  angel,  so,  if  you  condemn 


210  MOLIERE 

My  declaration,  you  must  blame  your  charms. 

As  soon  as  I  beheld  your  superhuman 

Loveliness,  you  became  the  sovereign  dear 

Who  rules  my  soul.     Your  glance  divine  broke  down 

With  godlike  sweetness  my  resisting  heart, 

Conquering  everything  —  my  fasting,  prayer, 

And  tears,  —  and  turned  unto  your  beauty  all 

My  vows.      Each  look,  each  sigh,  has  told  you  this 

A  thousand  times,  until,  to  tell  it  better, 

I  must  my  voice  employ.     If  you,  benign, 

Will  gaze  upon  the  sorrows  of  your  slave, 

Unworthy  me,  if  your  sweet  charity 

Will  solace,  if  you  '11  stoop  to  nothingness 

Like  me,  I  shall  ever  love  you,  most  sweet 

Miracle,  with  a  love  unparalleled. 

Your  honour's  safe  with  me,  you  need  not  fear 

Disgrace.     Those  courtiers  whom  your  sex  adores, 

Are  boastful  of  their  deeds,  and  vain  of  word. 

The  favours  they  receive  are  soon  divulged. 

Their  wagging  tongues  betray  and  desecrate 

The  sacrificial  altar  of  their  passion  ; 

But  love  burns  prudently  in  men  like  me  — 

For  ever  is  the  secret  wisely  kept. 

The  care  we  take  to  guard  our  honour's  name 

Is  shield  enough  unto  the  one  adored  : 

In  us  you  '11  find  when  you  accept  our  hearts, 

Love  without  scandal,  pleasure  without  fear. 

Having  led  Tartuffe  thus  to  avow  himself,  Elmire,  by 
promising  not  to  divulge  his  passion  to  her  husband,  is 
on  the  point  of  making  him  renounce  Mariane's  hand, 
when  Damis,  rushing  from  his  hiding-place,  exclaims  in 
blundering  anger,  "  No,  madame,  no,  this  shall  be  made 
public !  "  and  despite  Elmire's  endeavours  to  prevent 
scandal,  goes  forthwith  to  undeceive  his  father  and  "  lay 
bare  the  heart  of  a  villain."  When  Orgon  asks  Tartuffe 
if  "  what  he  has  heard  is  true,"  that  worthy,  feigning 
humility,  convinces  the  dupe  of  his  innocence  by  the 
very  frankness  of  his  confession  : 


THE   POET   MILITANT  an 

Yes,  my  brother,  I  am  a  wretched  sinner, 

Guilty,  corrupt,  and  with  defilement  stained — 

The  greatest  scoundrel  of  all  time  ;  for  all 

My  life  is  tainted  with  impurity 

And  a  mere  slough  of  sin  and  filthiness. 

I  see  that  Heaven  for  my  punishment 

Means  now  to  mortify  me;  so  whatever 

The  crime  with  which  I  may  be  charged,  no  wish 

Nor  vanity  have  I  to  exculpate 

Myself.     Believe  the  cry  of  scandal,  arm 

Your  indignation,  drive  me  from  your  hearth 

A  felon  proved  !     For  what  disgrace  soe'er 

Is  heaped  upon  me,  I  have  earned  still  more. 

This  master-stroke  of  self-depreciation  turns  Orgon's 
wrath  upon  Tartuffe's  accuser.  "Traitor,"  he  cries  to 
his  son,  "  dare  you  tarnish  the  purity  of  his  virtue  by  this 
falsehood  ";  then,  denouncing  children,  wife,  and  servants 
as  "  a  pack  conspiring  to  drive  a  pious  man  from  the 
house,"  he  announces  that  Mariane  shall  wed  his  friend 
forthwith.  When  Damis  refuses  to  kneel  and  beg  for- 
giveness of  Tartuffe,  the  infuriated  Orgon  turns  his  con- 
tumacious son  out  of  the  house ;  and  in  proof  of  his 
confidence  bids  Tartuffe  be  frequently  seen  with  his  wife, 
and  straightway  swears  he  '11  deed  him  all  his  property ; 
"  for,"  as  he  says,  "  the  faithful  and  honest  friend  whom 
I  take  for  a  son-in-law  is  dearer  to  me  than  son,  wife,  or 
parents."  "  Heaven's  will  be  done  !  "  the  hypocrite  ex- 
claims as  the  curtain  falls  upon  this  picture  of  credulity 
and  guile,  painted  so  truthfully  that  we  see  and  know 
hypocrisy  for  evermore. 

Two  more  acts  were  added  after  the  first  performance 
at  Versailles.  In  one,  Elmire  convinces  Orgon  of  Tar- 
tuffe's villainy  by  inducing  her  stubborn  lord  to  hide 
beneath  a  table  while  his  friend  avows  his  unholy  passion  ; 
in  the  other,  Tartuffe,  unmasked,  attempts  to  turn  his 


212  MOLIERE 

benefactor  out  of  house  and  home  by  means  of  a  bailiff 
of  his  own  cloth,  and  a  writ  of  possession  taken  under  the 
deed  of  gift  of  Orgon's  fortune.  He  even  accuses  his 
dupe  of  high  treason  on  evidence  confided  to  him  in 
trust ;  but  coming  with  an  officer  to  arrest  him,  he,  in- 
stead, is  borne  to  prison. 

In  arresting  this  arch-hypocrite,  the  officer  pays  the 
following  subtle  tribute  to  the  King : 

A  prince,  the  mortal  enemy  of  fraud, 

Rules  over  us  —  a  prince  whose  eyes  all  hearts 

Illuminate,  and  are  themselves  deceived 

By  no  impostor's  art.     With  judgment  rare 

Endowed,  his  splendid  soul  surveys  all  things 

With  equity,  and  is  by  passion  ne'er 

Led  far  afield  ;  nor  sinks  his  reason  firm 

To  any  base  excess.      For  worthy  men 

Immortal  fame  he  holds ;  unblinded  burns 

His  zeal,  while  love  for  truth  ne'er  shuts  his  heart 

Against  the  horror  falsehood  should  excite. 

After  explaining  that  the  monarch  thus  praised  has  de- 
tected TartufFe  in  his  villainy,  the  officer  tells  Orgon  that 
the  deed  of  his  property  is  annulled  and  his  supposed 
treason  pardoned.  This  is  certainly  a  trite  method  of 
untying  a  clever  knot ;  yet  it  is  idle  to  criticise  a  master- 
piece. The  Hypocrite  is  one  of  the  great  comedies  of  the 
world,  and  will  ever  live  as  containing  an  abhorrent  pic- 
ture of  human  duplicity.  Never,  save  in  The  Misanthrope, 
did  Moliere's  genius  rise  to  such  a  height. 

To  understand  the  sensation  this  comedy  created,  a 
glance  at  the  religious  situation  is  necessary.  There  were 
then  two  parties  within  the  French  church,  —  the  Jesuits 
and  the  Jansenists.  The  former  were  men  of  the  world, 
seeking  to  guide  religion  along  expedient  paths ;  the 
latter,  deriving  their  name  from  Jansen,  a  reformer  who 


THE   POET   MILITANT  213 

died  in  1638,  were  Puritan  idealists  demanding  church 
reform.  The  Jesuits  denounced  Jansen's  denial  of  the 
freedom  of  will  and  the  possibility  of  man  resisting  grace 
—  a  creed  not  unlike  Calvinism  —  as  heresy,  and  when 
the  Holy  See  issued  a  bull  of  condemnation  against  these 
doctrines  in  1653,  the  Jansenists,  in  retreat  at  their  con- 
vent at  Port  Royal,  were  led  by  Arnauld  d'Andilly  to  wage 
such  a  wordy  warfare  of  defence  that  they  became  the  ob- 
ject of  violent  persecution.  Though  bravely  defended 
by  Pascal  in  his  famous  Provincial  Letters  (Lettres  pro- 
vinciales\  Arnauld  was  expelled  from  the  Sorbonne  and 
eventually  driven  from  France ;  nevertheless,  he  was 
upheld  by  a  large  party,  including  some  sixteen  bish- 
ops and  twenty  doctors  of  the  Sorbonne,  while  many 
prominent  nobles,  the  Prince  de  Conti,  Moliere's  for- 
mer protector,  among  them,  were  zealous  converts  to 
Jansenism. 

During  this  controversy  religious  animosity  ran  high  ; 
and  JV^oHere's  play  appearing  in  the  midst  of  it,  each 
party  discovered  in  Tartuffe  a  portrait  of  the  other.  His 
scourge  and  haircloth  shirt  might  easily  pass  for  a  skit 
upon  the  austerities  practised  at  Port  Royal ;  yet  his 
philosophy  is  Jesuitical,  according  to  the  popular  defini- 
tion of  that  company 's  casuistry.  For  instance,  the 
following  logic  used  by  Tartuffe  to  tempt  Elmire  from 
the  paths  of  virtue,  while  her  husband  listens  beneath  a 
table,  has  frequently  been  considered  a  travesty  upon  the 
Jesuitical  doctrine  of  Direction  of  Intention: 

Those  idle  fears,  Madame,  I  can  dispel ; 
I  know  the  art  of  pacifying  doubts. 
Some  pleasures,  truly,  are  inhibited 
By  God ;  yet  easily  with  Him  we  can 
Accommodate  ourselves.     To  stretch  the  bonds 


2i4  MOLIERE 

Of  conscience  in  accordance  with  our  needs 

And  reconcile  the  evil  of  an  act 

With  purity  of  purpose  is  a  science. 

These  secrets  I  '11  impart  to  you,  Madame  : 

Be  led  by  me,  my  passion  gratify, 

And  have  no  further  fear.     I  'm  liable 

For  all ;  upon  myself  I  take  the  sin.1 

Tartuffe  might  readily  pass  for  a  Jesuit  among  that 
society's  enemies];  to  the  present  generation,  at  least, 
there  is  little  in  his  character  suggesting  Arnauld  or  his 
zealous  followers,  —  by  far  the  most  sincere  churchmen 
of  their  day.  In  the  seventeenth  century,  however,  the 
Jansenists,  a  radical  opposition  minority  in  church  politics, 
were  held  in  a  very  different  light  by  their  conservative 
opponents ;  moreover,  they  were  violent  enemies  of  the 
theatre,  even  advocating  its  abolition  ;  hence  the  natural 
foes  of  Moliere.  M.  Mesnard  2  cites  a  statement  by  Bros- 
sette  to  the  effect  that  "  the  King  hated  the  Jansenists, 
whom  he  regarded  ...  for  the  most  part,  as  the  real 
subjects  of  Moliere' s  comedy,"  and  quotes  the  Abbe  Joly 
as  saying  that  "  many  people  have  pretended  Moliere 
had  Port  Royal  in  mind,  and  particularly  M.  Arnauld 
d'Andilly,  who  is  satirised  in  the  scene  where  Tartuffe 
says  he  has  devoutly  eaten  two  partridges  and  half  a  leg 
of  hashed  mutton." 

Roquette,  a  fashionable  churchman  who  was  "  Maza- 
rin's  man-of-all-work  and  a  servant  of  the  Jesuits/'  was 
thought  by  some  of  his  contemporaries  to  have  been 
Tartuffe's  original ;  likewise  Charpy,  Sieur  de  Sainte- 

1  M.  Auger  (CEuvres  de  Moliere]  calls  attention  to  the  scene  in  Act 
V,  where  Orgon,  in  speaking  of  Tartuffe,  uses  the  expression  "  sous 
un  beau  semblant"  as  savouring  of  a  Jesuitical  doctrine,  on  "Mental 
Restrictions." 

8   CEuvres  de  Moliere. 


THE   POET    MILITANT  215 

Croix.  Tallemant  des  Reaux,  too,  recounts  the  declara- 
tion of  a  certain  Abbe  de  Pons  to  Ninon  de  Lenclos  as 
having  inspired  the  line  : 

Though  devotee,  I  *m  none  the  less  a  man. 

Furtnermore,  the  Duchesse  de  Longueville,  a  fervent 
Jansenist,  has  been  indicated  as  the  Elmire  to  whom 
Tartuffe  paid  his  suit ;  while  the  Prince  de  Conti  has 
been  called  the  original  of  Orgon.  It  has  remained  for 
a  modern  writer,  however,  to  propound  the  theory  that 
Moliere's  comedy  was  written  at  the  express  command 
of  Louis  XIV  to  ridicule  the  Jansenists.1 

These  attempts  to  discover  the  original  of  Tartuffe 
are,  in  reality,  unwitting  compliments  to  the  poet's 
genius.  Each  man  saw  his  neighbour  portrayed, — a 
fact  well  indicated  in  a  letter  of  Racine's  regarding  a 
reading  of  the  play  at  the  Duchesse  de  Longueville's, 
postponed  on  account  of  the  expulsion  of  some  Jansen- 
ist nuns  from  their  convent.  "  These  people  have  been 
told,"  says  Racine,  referring  to  the  Jansenists,  "  that  the 
Jesuits  had  been  satirised  in  this  comedy,"  but  he  adds 
that  the  Jesuits  "  flattered  themselves  it  was  aimed  at  the 
Jansenists." 

Tartuffe's  original  was,  in  all  probability,  not  an  indi- 
vidual or  sect,  but  a  peculiar  kind  of  pharisee  known  as 
a  director  of  conscience  (directeur  de  conscience]  which  the 
religious  revival  of  Louis  XIV's  reign  had  brought  into 
fashion.  Often  a  layman  like  Tartuffe,  the  director  of 
conscience  was  employed  by  wealthy  families  in  addition 
to  the  confessor  as  a  spiritual  guide  charged  with  the 
regulation  of  its  members'  daily  actions.  The  women 
were  apparently  his  chief  care ;  for,  according  to  La 

1  Le  Tartuffe  par  ordre  de  Louis  Xlf  by  Louis  Lacour. 


216  MOLIERE 

Bruyere,1  "  they  confided  to  him  their  joys,  griefs,  hopes, 
and  jealousies,  their  hatreds  and  their  loves,"  while  he 
was  seen  with  them  "  in  their  carriages,  in  the  streets, 
and  on  the  promenade,  and  seated  beside  them  at  church 
and  in  the  theatre."  Certainly  such  a  personage  is 
nearer  the  reality  of  Moliere's  hypocrite  than  any  Jan- 
senist  or  Jesuit  partisan.  That  the  poet  had  these  pro- 
fessional conscience  directors  in  mind,  is  evinced  by  the 
following  lines,  spoken  by  Cleante  in  contempt  of  the 
class  to  which  Tartuffe  belonged : 

Those  downright  cheats,  those  devotees  for  hire 
Whose  sacrilegious  and  deceitful  smirks 
Revile  the  sacred,  holiest  precepts 
Of  mankind,  boldly  making  them  a  jest  — 
Those  men  with  soul  by  interest  subdued 
Who  make  both  wares  and  calling  of  their  faith, 
Who  by  false  glances  and  feigned  rapture  seek 
Both  dignities  and  confidence  to  buy.8 

Furthermore,  Dorine  speaks  of  Tartuffe  as  the  "  circum- 
spect director  "  of  Orgon's  deeds  (de  ses  actions  le  di- 
rect eur  prudent),  while  that  hypocrite  himself,  when  telling 
Elmire  that  "  love  burns  prudently  in  men  like  me," 
speaks  of  himself  as  belonging  to  a  class,  by  using  we 
and  us  instead  of  the  more  natural  pronouns  /  and  me? 

1  Les  Caracteres. 

a  Alexis  Veselovsky  in  a  Study  of  Tartuffe  (Etudy  o  Molierie.  Tar- 
tuffe. Ltoria  tipa  i  piesy.  Monograpbia.  Aleksieia  Veselovskayo), 
published  in  Moscow  in  1879,  treats  the  possible  originals  of  Moliere's 
hypocrites,  particularly  the  directors  of  conscience,  exhaustively.  Having 
no  knowledge  of  Russian,  the  present  writer  has  only  been  able  to 
gather  Mr.  Veselovsky 's  views,  second  hand,  by  means  of  French  reviews. 
Mr.  Henry  M.  Trollope,  too,  in  his  The  Life  of  Mol&re  discusses  the 
directors  of  conscience  at  considerable  length,  and  presents  some  thoughtful 
conclusions,  indicating  that  they  were  the  originals  of  Moliere's  Tartuffe. 
*  Sec  page  208. 


THE   POET   MILITANT  217 

The  latest  theory  regarding  the  original  of  Tartuffe 
is  advanced  by  M.  Raoul  Allier.1  According  to  this 
writer  there  had  existed  in  France  since  1627  a  religious 
body  called  the  Society  of  the  Holy  Sacrament,  —  not  a 
sect,  but  an  association  of  men  and  women  within  the 
church  working  for  moral  purity  and  the  strict  observ- 
ance of  religion.  Founded  upon  high  moral  principles, 
this  organisation,  though  counting  among  its  members 
many  people  of  high  standing,  gradually  became  an 
asylum  for  hypocrites ;  and  it  was  against  these  that 
Moliere,  according  to  M.  Allier,  directed  his  satire. 
The  peculiar  wording  of  Dorine's  speech  in  which  she 
refers  to  Tartuffe  as  "the  circumspect  director"  of 
Orgon's  deeds  would  indicate  that  the  director  of  con- 
science was  the  original  of  Moliere's  Tartuffe.  However, 
the  members  of  the  Society  of  the  Holy  Sacrament  were 
doubtless  spiritual  directors  as  well. 

That  hypocrites,  such  as  Tartuffe,  were  rife  at  the  time 
is  indicated  in  a  story  told  by  the  Abbe  de  Chateauneuf,2 
about  a  reading  of  the  play  to  Ninon  de  Lenclos  which 
caused  her  to  sketch  a  portrait  from  life  of  a  hypocrite  of 
the  same  stamp  as  Tartuffe,  with  whom  she  had  just 
had  an  adventure.  This  was  painted  in  such  "  lively 
colours,"  to  quote  the  Abbe,  "  that  if  the  play  had  not 
been  written,  Moliere  avowed  he  would  not  have  under- 
taken it,  so  incapable  was  he  of  putting  on  the  stage 
anything  as  perfect  as  Ninon's  Tartuffe." 

The  name  Tartuffe  is  another  indication  that  Moliere's 
satire  was  aimed  at  hypocrites  in  general  rather  than  at  a 
particular  sect.  In  Old  French,  according  to  M.  Mes- 
nard,  the  word  truffe  signified  deceit^  and  when  used  to 

1  La  Cabale  des  devots. 

3  Dialogue  sur  la  musique  de$  ancient 


2i8  MOLIERE 

denote  a  truffle  was  written  tartufle  (in  Italian  tartufd). 
So  perfect  was  Moliere's  picture  of  hypocrisy  that  tartufe, 
written  with  one  /,  has  become  a  French  word  signi- 
fying "  hypocrite."  In  this  connection  M.  Littre,  the 
lexicographer,  says : 

Moliere,  who  spelt  it  Tartuffe,  borrowed  the  word 
from  the  Italian,  Tartufo  being  used  in  Lippe's  Mai- 
mantile  in  the  sense  of  a  man  of  evil  mind.1 

This  reference  to  Malmantile  leads  to  the  inevitable 
discussion  of  the  sources  from  which  Moliere  drew  his 
play.  Regnier's  Macette,  an  Italian  comedy  called  The 
Hypocrite  (L'Ipocrito)  by  Pietro  Aretino,  a  farce  called 
The  Hypocritical  Doctor  (II  Dot  tor  bacchettone)  attributed 
to  Bonvicino  Gioannelli,  another  called  The  Basilisk  of 
Bernagasso  (II  Basilisco  del  Bernagasso)  and  The  Novel 
of  the  Hypocrites  (La  Nouvelle  des  Hypocrites)  by  Scar- 
ron  are  various  anterior  satires  of  hypocrisy  in  which 
scholars  have  discovered  some  likeness  to  The  Hypocrite. 
Boccaccio,  too,  has  been  haled  into  court;  yet  Moliere's 
comedy  is  convincing  evidence  that  in  literature  it  is  not 
a  crime  to  steal.  The  crime  lies  in  not  bettering  the 
stolen  goods,  —  an  offence  which  can  never  be  laid  at  our 
poet's  door.  In  the  words  of  Lessing  :  "  The  public  has 
no  interest  in  learning  where  Moliere  finds  his  subjects  to 
divert  it.  c  If  it  be  by  theft/  the  public  assures  itself, ( we 
humbly  and  politely  pray  the  other  poets  to  be  so  kind 
as  to  steal  in  the  same  way/ ' 

After  the  first  three  acts  were  played  at  Versailles  on 

1  Lippe's  Malmantile  wns  not  printed  until  1676,  but  is  stated  to  have 
been  circulated  in  manuscript  in  France  previous  to  that  date.  M.  H. 
Monin  in  the  Molieriste,  July,  1 866,  urges  that  tartuffe  is  derived  from 
eartuflet  —  a  word  used  in  the  South  of  France  to  signify  *' potato"  — 
German,  kartoffel . 


THE   POET    MILITANT  219 


1664,  <The  Hypocrite  was  attacked  so  strenu- 
ously on  the  ground  of  impiety  that  the  King  forbade 
its  public  representation,  although  permitting  the  author 
to  read  and  even  perform  it  in  society.  The  Court 
Gazette  announced  that  "  His  Majesty,  fully  enlightened 
in  everything,  considered  it  absolutely  injurious  to  reli- 
gion, and  capable  of  producing  the  most  dangerous  con- 
sequences," yet  the  official  description  of  "  The  Pleasures 
of  the  Enchanted  Isle  "  conveys  the  impression  that  the 
King's  proscription  was  inspired  solely  by  state  polity. 

The  impression  that  the  King's  proscription  was  polit- 
ically inspired  is  further  substantiated  by  the  permission 
he  gave  Moliere  to  read  his  play  before  Chigi,  the  papal 
legate,  at  Fontainebleau  during  the  summer  of  1664. 
This  prelate,  officially  engaged  in  the  distribution  of 
indulgences,  apparently  granted  one  to  Moliere's  play, 
since  in  the  first  of  three  petitions  to  the  King  for  per- 
mission to  play  The  Hypocrite  in  public,  the  poet  speaks 
of  having  won  the  approbation  of  Monsieur  le  Legat. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  this  reading  before  the 
emissary  of  the  Holy  See,  Pierre  Roulle,  a  doctor  of  the 
Sorbonne  and  priest  of  the  parish  of  St.  Bartholomew, 
announced  in  print  that  — 

A  man,  or  rather  a  demon  clothed  in  the  flesh  yet 
dressed  as  a  man,  and  the  most  notorious  and  ungodly 
libertine  the  world  has  ever  known,  has  been  so  impious 
as  to  send  forth  from  his  diabolical  mind  a  play  now 
ready  to  be  given  to  the  public  by  being  played  at  his 
theatre,  which  scoffs  at  the  entire  church,  and  derides  the 
most  sacred  character,  the  most  divine  function,  and  all 
that  is  holiest  in  the  church.1 

1  Le  Rot  glorieux  au  monde  ou  Louis  XI  V  le  plus  glorieux  de  tous 
Us  rots  du  monde, 


220  MOLlfiRE 

Furthermore,  this  outraged  churchman  assures  us  that 
the  King,  besides  proscribing  The  Hypocrite,  had  ordered 
Moliere,  "  under  pain  of  death,  to  tear,  stifle,  and  burn 
all  of  it  that  he  had  written." 

Roulle's  sentiments  were  apparently  father  to  his  state- 
ments; since,  far  from  executing  this  sentence,  the  King 
permitted  three  acts  of  Moliere's  comedy  to  be  played  at 
Villers-Cotterets  in  September  before  the  Due  d'Orleans 
and  members  of  the  royal  family;  while  in  November 
the  entire  play  was  performed  for  the  great  Conde  at 
Raincy.1 

From  the  first  the  victor  of  Rocroy  had  been  a  par- 
tisan of  Moliere's  comedy.  In  the  preface  to  its  first 
edition  the  author  himself  tells  us  that  the  King,  having 
asked  Conde  why  a  comedy  called  Scaramouche  a  Hermit 
(Scaramouche  ermite)  failed  to  irritate  the  people  who 
were  so  greatly  scandalised  by  The  Hypocrite,  the  soldier 
replied  that : 

"  Scaramouche  laughs  at  Heaven  and  religion,  about 
which  these  gentlemen  care  nothing;  while  Moliere's 
comedy  laughs  at  themselves, —  a  thing  they  cannot 
tolerate." 

Conde's  epigram  sounds  the  key-note  of  the  persecu- 
tion to  which  Moliere  was  subjected.  The  hypocrites 
could  ill  afford  to  be  laughed  at ;  therefore,  to  shield 

1  The  1682  edition  of  Moli&re's  works  states  that  The  Hypocrite, 
"perfect,  entire,  and  finished  in  five  acts,"  was  performed  at  this  rime  ; 
and  La  Grange  in  his  Registre  says  :  «'  Le  Tar  tuff e,  in  five  acts,  was 
played  there  [Raincy]."  On  the  other  hand,  M.  Louis  Moland  (Vie 
de  J.-B.  P.  Moliere)  quotes  a  contemporary  letter  signed  by  Henry 
Jules  de  Bourbon,  indicating  that  the  last  two  acts  were  still  unfinished ; 
M.  Moland,  however,  as  well  as  M.  Mesnard,  is  of  the  opinion  that  the 
five  acts  were  performed  at  Raincy. 


THE   POET   MILITANT  221 

themselves,  they  attacked  this  play  on  the  ground  of 
impiety.  Louis,  on  the  other  hand,  though  relishing 
Moliere's  satire,  found  it  politic  not  to  add  fuel  to  a 
religious  conflagration  already  raging;  so  The  Hypocrite 
was  prohibited, —  a  most  kingly  policy,  since  Napoleon, 
certainly  a  less  religious  monarch  than  Louis,  has  been 
quoted  as  saying  that,  had  the  play  been  written  in  his 
day,  he  would  not  have  permitted  its  representation.1 

Moliere  had  already  fought  a  skirmish  with  the  hypo- 
crites over  The  School  for  Wives ;  yet,  undaunted  by  this 
baptism  of  fire,  he  marshalled  his  forces  anew  against 
these  most  despicable  of  human  beings.  To  quote  the 
words  of  his  preface : 

All  the  hypocrites  have  armed  themselves  against  my 
comedy  with  appalling  fury  ;  yet  they  have  taken  care  not 
to  attack  it  on  the  side  which  wounds  them ;  for  they  are 
too  politic  for  that,  and  Jcnow  the  world  too  well  to  lay 
bare  their  souls>  Following  their  praiseworthy  habit, 
they  "have  cloaked  their  interests  with  the  cause  of 
Heaven ;  so  The  Hypocrite  on  their  lips  becomes  a  play 
which  offends  piety. 

This  indicates  clearly  the  lines  on  which  the  pharisees 
waged  war.  In  the  first  petition  Moliere  presented  to 
the  King  he  outlines  his  own  attitude  thus  : 

I  believe  that  I  can  do  nothing  better  than  attack  the 
vices  of  my  time  with  ridiculous  likenesses ;  and  as 
hypocrisy  is,  without  doubt,  one  of  the  most  common, 
the  most  disagreeable,  and  the  most  dangerous  of  these, 
I  thought,  Sire,  that  I  was  rendering  a  not  unimportant 
service  to  the  honest  people  of  your  kingdom. 

This  is  the  challenge  of  a  knight  couched  in  the 
language  of  a  courtier.  Ever  too  politic  to  offend  his 

1  Memorial  de  Sainte-Helene. 


222  MOLIERE 

sovereign,  Moliere  flattered  Louis  in  the  denouement  of 
The  Hypocrite  by  calling  him  "the  mortal  enemy  of 
fraud," l  and  in  the  three  petitions  in  which  he  asked 
permission  to  present  his  comedy,  addressed  him  in  a 
tone  of  frankness,  not  to  say  familiarity,  showing  a  con- 
viction that  the  King  at  heart  approved  of  his  satire 
pn  hypocrisy. 

\/  There  is  space  only  to  indicate  the  chief  battles  in  the 
war  Moliere  fought  for  the  right  to  present  his  play  in 
public.  It  began  when  The  Hypocrite  was  proscribed, 
and  lasted  until  the  poet  emerged  triumphant.  Three 
years  after  his  comedy  was  prohibited,  Moliere  suddenly 
placed  it  upon  the  boards  of  his  theatre  (August  fifth, 
1667),  under  the  title  of  The  Impostor  (L'Imposteur), 
with  Tartuffe's  name  changed  to  Panulphe,  and  his 
sombre  garments  of  a  director  of  conscience  discarded 
for  the  brocades  and  plumes  of  a  courtier.  It  was  the 
summer  season  and  the  King  was  absent  in  Flanders : 
yet  Monsieur  de  Lamoignon,  president  of  the  board  of 
police,  promptly  closed  the  theatre.  Nothing  daunted, 
Moliere  despatched  two  of  his  comedians,  La  Thorilliere 
and  La  Grange,  to  the  camp  before  Lille  with  a  petition 
to  his  Majesty  in  which  the  poet  assured  Louis  that  "  if 
the  hypocrites  should  win,  he  would  no  longer  dream  of 
writing  comedy." 

The  King  sustained  the  authorities  in  their  action,  but 
gave  Moliere's  emissaries  oral  assurance  that  eventually 
The  Hypocrite  would  be  played.  Meantime  the  relig- 
ionists continued  the  war.  Moliere's  most  bitter  oppo- 
nent was  Hardouin  de  Perefixe,  archbishop  of  Paris,  who, 
according  to  Brossette,  "  placed  himself  at  the  head  of 

1  See  page  212. 


THE   POET    MILITANT  223 

the  devotees."  This  prelate  decided  to  render  the  police 
proscription  doubly  sure  by  forbidding  the  Christians 
of  his  diocese  "  to  act  Le  T'artuffe  —  whatever  the  name 
of  the  said  comedy  might  be  —  to  read  it,  or  hear  it  read, 
under  pain  of  excommunication."  This  interdiction  was 
posted  on  the  door  of  every  church  in  the  diocese  of 
Paris,  and,  as  if  this  were  not  sufficient  anathema,  a 
Jansenist  pamphleteer  named  Adrien  Baillet  declared 
Moliere  to  be  "  one  of  the  most  dangerous  enemies  the 
century  or  the  world  had  aroused  against  the  church," 
while  Bourdaloue,  at  least  a  worthy  foe,  pronounced  ¥he 
Hypocrite  "one  of  those  damnable  inventions  intended 
to  humiliate  worthy  people  and  render  them  liable  to 
suspicion."  l 

These  attacks  told  upon  Moliere's  health.  During 
the  summer  of  1667  he  fell  ill  and  his  theatre  was  closed 
for  seven  weeks.  Finally  his  indomitable  persistence  was 
rewarded.  After  Clement  IX  had  restored  the  Jansenist 
bishops  to  papal  favour,  Moliere  petitioned  the  King  for 
the  third  time  for  permission  to  play  his  comedy,  and 
Louis,  finding  a  temporary  calm  upon  the  religious  sea, 
restored  {The  Hypocrite  to  the  stage  by  the  royal  decree 
of  February  fifth,  1669. 

~  So  great  was  the  curiosity  aroused  in  the  public  mind 
by  this  five  years*  controversy  that  the  receipts  of  the 
theatre  reached  the  phenomenal  sum  of  two  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  sixty  livres  at  the  first  performance ; 
the  crowd  about  the  doors  of  the  Palais  Royal  becoming 
so  immense  that,  in  the  words  of  a  chronicler,  "  cloaks 
and  sides  were  both  torn,"  —  a  striking  proof  that  the 
enmity  of  the  church  is  the  best  advertisement  a  play 
can  receive. 

1  Sermon  sur  rbypocrisie. 


224  MOLIERE 


Hypocrite  was  not  the  sole  missile  discharged  by 
Moliere  against  the  ramparts  of  hypocrisy.  Within  a 
year  after  it  had  been  interdicted  he  had  placed  upon 
the  boards  (February  fifteenth,  1665)  Don  Juan;  or,  The 
Feast  of  Stone  (Don  Juan,  ou  le  festin  de  pierre),  a  five- 
act  comedy  in  prose  founded  upon  a  Spanish  play  by 
Tirso  de  Molina.1 

The  Spanish  work  told  with  impressive  sombreness 
the  legend  of  Don  Juan  Tenorio,  a  Sevillian  rake 
dragged  to  everlasting  torment  by  the  statue  of  the  man 
he  had  murdered  after  betraying  his  daughter.  Mozart's 
opera  has  made  this  story  too  familiar  to  need  repetition 
here.  Indeed,  it  was  equally  well  known  when  Moliere's 
play  appeared;  for  two  Frenchmen,  Dorimond  and 
Villiers  by  name,  had  each  written  a  version  in  verse, 
while  in  Italy  there  were  at  least  three  Don  Juans  upon 
the  contemporary  stage.2 

Whether  Moliere  modelled  his  play  after  Tirso  de 
Molina  or  after  one  of  the  Spaniard's  foreign  imitators, 
is  a  matter  of  slight  consequence.  He  wrote  it,  so  the 
story  goes,  at  the  urgent  request  of  his  comrades,  and 
most  likely  the  material  he  used  was  as  international  as 
the  legend  of  Don  Juan  Tenorio's  misdeeds,  though 
the  lightness  of  his  touch,  at  least,  is  suggestive  of  the 
Italian  Don  Juans  rather  than  Molina's  more  lugu- 
brious Sevillian.  Moliere's  rake  is  essentially  Gallic ; 
his  other  characters  truly  of  the  soil  of  France.  In- 
deed, our  interest  in  this  comedy  lies  in  its  vigorous 
.cterisation. 


\[     em 

X 


1  El  burlador  de  Sevilla  y  combldado  de  piedra. 

2  George  Bernard  Shaw's  play,  Man  and  Superman,  is  the  most  mod- 
ern version  of  this  ancient  theme. 


THE    POET    MILITANT  225 

Though  less  masterful  than  its  predecessor  as  litera- 
ture, it  bears  equally  the  hall  mark  of  dramatic  genius. 
To  quote  M.  Louis  Moland : 

Don  Juan  tends  more  and  more  to  fill  a  higher  place 
in  Moliere's  works.  True,  it  is  not  written  with  such 
incomparable  art  as  'The  Misanthrope  or  The  Hypocrite 
.  .  .  yet  Moliere's  conception  is  presented  with  extra- 
ordinary boldness ;  his  genius  has  never  shown  itself  at 
once  so  independent  and  vigorous.  .  .  .  This  comedy  is 
a  world  fully  set  in  motion  by  the  impetus  of  the  main 
idea  creating  it  and  giving  it  life.  All  classes  of  society 
pass  in  turn  before  our  eyes.  The  unity  lies  in  the 
foundation,  not  in  the  design.  The  same  breath  ani- 
mates  all  its  characters ;  the  same  atmosphere  surrounds 
them  ;  moreover,  around  them  a  sublime  space  prevails. 
It  is  quite  in  Shakespeare's  mighty  style.1 

In  this  passage  M.  Moland  touches  the  dominant 
note ;  for  of  all  M^^ 

suggestive  of  Shakespeare.  The  pernicious  unities  of 
time  and  place,  so  long  a  fetich  of  French  dramatists,  are 
cast  to  the  four  winds ;  for  the  scene  shifts  from  sea- 
coast  and  forest  to  interior  and  tomb  with  a  disregard  of 
Aristotle  worthy  of  the  Bard  of  Avon.  Still  there  is  unity 
of^  action.  Each  incident,  incongruous  as  it  may  at  first 
appear,  furthers  the  story  of  a  rake's  progress  to  perdi- 
tion. Atmosphere  and  action  furnish  the  exposition. 
Complications,  catastrophe,  and  denouement  are  subordi- 
nated to  character  painting ;  yet  there  is  more  movement 
in  Don  Juan  than  in  any  of  Moliere's  comedies,  —  move- 
ment of  scene,  movement  of  incident,  tempered  by  the 
author's  marvellous  gift  of  characterisation.  As  M. 
Moland  truly  says,  "  all  classes  of  society  pass  before 

1  Vie  de  J.-B.  P.  MoMre. 


226  MOLIERE 

our  eyes,"  —  patricians,  rakes,  paupers,  peasants,  spadas- 
sins,  flunkies,  tradesmen,  and  even  ghosts  are  projected 
upon  the  scene  with  the  veracity  of  a  vitascope.  It  is 
the  psychology  of  society,  rich  in  unerring  touches,  but 
society  droning  a  chorus,  as  in  a  Greek  play  ;  for  the 
characters,  to  whom  all  else  is  subordinated,  are  Don 
Juan  and  his  servant,  Sganarelle.  Even  the  latter  isjier 
signed  as  a  foil  to  the  impious  rake,  his  master;  since 
Sganarelle's  cunning,  superstition,  and  qualms  of  con- 
science form  part  of  Moliere's  dominant  idea  that  "  a 
great  lord  who  is  a  wicked  man  is  a  terrible  thing/' 

A  railer  and  a  debauchee,  riding  rough-shod  over  man- 
kind with  birthright  for  his  steed  —  a  rake,  a  seducer, 
a  conscienceless  murderer,  without  faith  or  respect,  yet 
replete  with  personal  charm  ;  a  man  with  ev^^  yig^juid 
but  the  single  virtue — courage"; m  short,  this  Don 
Juan  is  a  grand  seigneur  of  the  old  regime,  ruthlessly 
asserting  his  seigneurial  right  while  starving  peasants 
beat  the  swamps  throughout  the  night  to  keep  the  frogs 
from  croaking.  His  creed  that  "  two  and  two  make 
four,  and  four  and  four  make  eight,"  is  the  essence  of 
atheism.  His  admonition  to  his  father  to  "  die  as  soon 
as  possible  as  the  best  thing  he  can  do,"  is  inspired  by 
his  egoistic  theory  that  "every  one  must  have  his  turn," 
—  a  doctrine  that  in  the  succeeding  century  found  French 
expression  in  the  apothegm  "  After  me,  the  deluge." 

This  libertine's  ideas  of  love  are  in  keeping  with  his 
egoism : 

Would  you  have  a  man  bind  himself  for  ever  to  the 
first  object  which  has  caught  his  fancy,  renounce  the 
world  for  her  sake,  and  have  eyes  for  no  other  woman  ? 
A  fine  thing  to  pique  one's  self  upon,  the  false  honour  of 
being  faithful.  .  .  .  No,  no,  constancy  is  only  fit  for 


THE   POET   MILITANT  227 

fools  ...  as  for  me,  beauty  delights  me  wherever  I 
meet  it  ...  What  matters  it  if  I  am  pledged  else- 
where ;  the  love  I  feel  for  one  fair  lady  does  not  per- 
suade my  heart  to  do  injustice  to  others ;  I  have  eyes  to 
see  the  merit  of  each,  and  I  pay  to  each  the  homage  and 
tribute  nature  demands.  .  .  .  Budding  desires,  after  all, 
have  an  indescribable  charm,  and  the  chief  pleasure  of 
love  is  in  variety.  .  .  .  Yet  when  once  I  am  master, 
there  is  nothing  more  to  say,  nothing  more  to  wish ;  all 
the  joys  of  passion  are  over,  and  I  am  lulled  to  sleep  by 
the  tranquillity  of  such  a  love.  ...  In  short,  there  is 
nothing  so  sweet  as  to  triumph  over  the  resistance  of  a 
pretty  girl.  Under  such  circumstances  I  am  inspired 
by  the  ambition  of  a  conqueror,  flying  perpetually  from 
victory  to  victory,  and  unable  to  set  bounds  to  his  long- 
ing. Nothing  can  restrain  the  impetuosity  of  my  de- 
sires; I  feel  I  have  a  heart  capable  of  loving  all  the 
world,  and,  like  Alexander,  I  could  sigh  for  other  worlds 
wherein  to  extend  my  amorous  conquests. 

This  "  greatest  rascal  the  earth  has  ever  held,"  as 
Sganarelle  calls  his  master,  "this  madman,  dog,  devil, 
Turk,  and  heretic  who  believes  in  neither  Heaven,  Hell, 
nor  werewolf/*  stalks  brave  as  a  paladin  through 
danger  with  scorn  upon  his  lip  and  a  hand  upon  his 
rapier.  "  Nothing  is  capable  of  inspiring  terror  in  me," 
he  cries  in  the  face  of  a  spectre  foreshadowing  his  doom. 
"  With  my  sword  I  shall  prove  if  it  be  body  or  ghost." 
"  No,  no  !  "  he  tells  Sganarelle,  as  the  spirit  vanishes  ;  "it 
shall  never  be  said  of  me,  no  matter  what  happens,  that 
I  am  capable  of  repenting.  Come,  follow  me  !  " 

Byron,  a  libertine  himself,  idealised  Don  Juan. 
Moliere  paints  this  arch-seducer  —  symbol  of  the  vices 
of  the  old  nobility  —  in  remorseless  colours,  yet  pays  full 
homage  to  patrician  bravery.  When  the  statue  of  the 
man  he  has  wronged  and  murdered  asks  if  he  has  courage 


228  MOLIERE 

to  sup  with  him,  Don  Juan  accepts  without  a  moment's 
hesitation;  when  his  sepulchral  host  demands  his  hand, 
he  extends  it  boldly,  though  it  means  to  clasp  the  hand 
of  death.  As  the  earth  opens  to  engulf  him,  no  cry  of 
fear  escapes  his  lips.  What  a  portrait  of  the  debonair 
noble  of  a  century  later,  mounting  the  scaffold  with  a 
smile  upon  his  vitiated  face  ! 

When  hell's  lightning  flashes  to  extol  his  master's 
doom,  servile,  superstitious,  tricky  Sganarelle  exclaims  : 

Alas !  my  wages,  my  wages  !  Everyone  is  satisfied 
by  his  death  :  offended  Heaven,  violated  laws,  seduced 
maidens,  dishonoured  families,  outraged  parents,  injured 
wives,  husbands  driven  to  despair  —  all  are  satisfied. 
I,  alone,  am  miserable  —  my  wages,  my  wages,  my 
wages ! l 

When  there  were  no  more  wages,  the  people,  "  driven 
to  despair,"  whom  Sganarelle  here  symbolises,  arose  to 
avenge  those  violated  laws !  Then  the  feast  of  stone 
became  the  feast  of  the  guillotine. 

There  is  one  false  note  in  this  picture  of  the  old  re- 
gime. Moliere's  Don  Juan  becomes  a  hypocrite  in  his 
last  hour, because,  as  he  says,  "hypocrisy  is  a  fashionable 
vice,  and  all  fashionable  vices  pass  for  virtues."  The 
poet  should  have  left  hypocrisy  to  Tartuffe ;  it  ill  be- 
comes patrician  Don  Juan.  A  man  who  boldly  acclaims 
himself  incapable  of  repentance,  who  faces  death  with 
unflinching  courage,  is  not  a  hypocrite.  Aristocrats  are 

1  Rochemont,  a  contemporary,  in  his  Observations  sur  une  com'edie  de 
Moliere  intitul'ee  le  Festin  de  Pierre,  1665,  mentions  Sganarelle's  plaint 
about  his  lost  wages  as  one  of  the  impious  passages  of  the  play  ;  and  so 
does  a  pamphlet  written  in  response  to  Rochemont.  After  the  first  per- 
formance Moliere  was  obliged  to  alter  this  speech,  although  M.  Louis 
Moland  and  M.  Mesnard  both  point  out  that  it  occurred  in  Cicognini's 
Italian  version  and  consequently  was  not  original  with  Moliere. 


THE  POET  MILITANT  229 

gamblers,  rakes,  libertines,  debauchees,  and  atheists,  if 
you  like,  but  hypocrisy,  thriving  upon  material  gain,  is 
essentially  middle  class.  The  hypocrites  of  France  were 
the  parasites  of  humble  origin  who  used  religion  as  a 
stepping-stone  to  power ;  not  the  debauched  nobles,  like 
Don  Juan,  fearing  neither  man  nor  God.  Don  Juan, 
exclaiming  that  hypocrisy  is  a  "  privileged  vice,"  that  "  a 
man  who  is  no  fool  adapts  himself  to  the  vices  of  his 
age,"  is  Moliere  preaching  ex  cathedra  to  his  enemies. 

This  second  attack  upon  hypocrisy  reawakened  the 
bitterness  aroused  by  the  first.  Don  Juan's  atheism 
and  impenitence  were  scandalous,  Sganarelle's  burlesque 
lamentations  a  shock  to  the  community's  moral  sense, 
cried  the  religionists ;  and  means  were  soon  found  to  cut 
short  the  life  of  this  play.  Only  fifteen  performances 
were^giyen.  At  the  second  tKe  scandalous  lines  were 
suppressed,  and  after  the  closing  of  his  theatre  for  the 
Easter  holidays,  Moliere  found  it  expedient  to  reopen 
with  another  play,  although  there  had  been  no  diminu- 
tion in  the  receipts  of  Don  Juan  sufficient  to  warrant  its 
suppression.  According  to  Voltaire,  a  five-act  comedy 
in  prose  written  without  regard  to  the  unities  was  too 
unheard  of  a  novelty  to  please  a  Parisian  audience ;  but 
M.  Mesnard  is  far  nearer  the  truth  in  attributing  Don 
Juans  short  life  to  "  a  silent  persecution."  "  It  is  clear," 
he  says,  "  that  during  the  Easter  vacation  the  wisdom 
of  taking  his  comedy  from  the  boards  was  pointed  out  to 
Moliere."  l 

In  ¥he  Hypocrite  the  iniquities  of  the  lords  spiritual 
were  exposed ;  in  Don  Juan  the  depravity  of  the  lords 
temporal  was  laid  bare.  Moliere  could  do  no  better 
"  than  attack  the  vices  of  his  time  with  ridiculous  like- 
1  (Euvres  de  Moliere. 


MOLIERE 

nesses,"  for  only  when  his  lance  was  poised  against  some 
evil  did  Tie  rise  to  his  full  height.  Had  France  profited 
by  these  lessons  from  his  fearless  pen,  she  might  have 
been  spared  her  Reign  of  Terror.  Moliere,  the  poet 
militant,  is  indeed  a  noble  figure,  —  a  Bayard  of  litera- 
ture, sans  peur  et  sans  reproche. 


THEATRICAL  AND    DOMESTIC   LIFE     231 


XIII 
THEATRICAL   AND    DOMESTIC   LIFE 

IN  more  ways  than  ;one  the  theatrical  year  beginning  at 
Easter,  1664,  was  th'e  most  eventful  in  Moliere's  career. 
In  May,  at  the  Versailles  fetes,  he  reached  the  climax  of 
mundane  glory  possible  for  an  actor  in  an  age  so  pre- 
scribed ;  before  the  year  had  ended,  both  The  Hypocrite 
and  Don  Juan  had  been  written,  while  The  Misanthrope, 
the  greatest  unit  in  this  trilogy  of  unrivalled  brilliance, 
was  conceived,  and  work  upon  it  begun. 

Not  only  did  this  year  mark  the  culmination  of 
Moliere's  genius,  but  of  his  happiness  as  well,  for  the 
walls  of  his  fool's  paradise  crumbled  then;  ere  it  had 
closed,  he  might  well  exclaim,  like  Alceste,  his  misan- 
thrope :  "  At  court  or  in  town  I  behold  only  objects 
that  heat  my  bile."  But  before  his  domestic  tragedy  is 
unfolded,  a  few  theatrical  happenings  must  be  chronicled, 
else  they  may  be  lost  sight  of  entirely. 

In  November  (1664)  T^ajgf^ngp    rpplarpfj    Mq]j^   ag 

orateur  of  the  troupe,  —  a  functionary  with  the  attributes 
of  the  modern  "  press  agent  "  ;  yet,  there  being  no  daily 
papers,  his  effusions  upon  the  merits  of  forthcoming 
productionize  delivered  orally  from  the  stage  at  the 
close  of  elSB^rformance.  The  young  actor  thus  pro- 
moted was  of  all  Moliere's  comedians  the  most  praise- 
worthy. Playing  lovers'  parts  to  perfection,  he  added  a 
personal  note  of  decency  to  a  profession  really  too  disso- 


232  MOLIERE 

lute,  and,  as  a  writer,  not  only  chronicled  the  doings  of 
the  company,  but  was  his  chief's  first  editor  as  well.  To 
quote  M.  Gustave  Larroumet,  "  Moliere  crowned  the 
dramatic  profession  with  the  aureole  of  genius ;  La 
Grange  brought  to  it  the  soft  tones  of  a  fine  talent 
and  a  fine  character."  1 

In  November  of  this  same  theatrical  year^Gros  Rene, 
long  Moliere's  companion  in  his  u  barn  storming  "  days, 
and  the  husband  of  the  imperious  Italian  beauty  Mar- 
quise Therese  de  Gorla  du  Pare,  departcdjthis^  life ;  and 
his  comrades  were  so  affected  that  they  closed  their  the- 
atre at  the  time  of  his  death,  although  it  was  Tuesday, 
a  regular  theatrical  day.  In  March,  1664,  Brecpurt,  a 
quarrelsome  actor  who  will  be  remembered  as  the  es- 
timable murderer  of  a  Parsian  cabman,  left  Moliere's 
forces  to  join  those  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  and  was 
replaced  by  Hubert,2  a  comedian  of  the  Theatre  du 
Marais~7~Eut  the  theatrical  event  of  most  striking  inter- 
est is  that  chronicled  by  La  Thorilliere,3  regarding  vari- 
ous eleemosynary  payments  made  during  June  and  July, 
1664,  to  a  wounded  porter  or  door-keeper. 

In  those  days  of  "radiant  baldrics  "  and  keen-pointed 
rapiers  the  porter  of  a  theatre  held  a  perilous  post  in- 
deed. It  was  his  duty  to  collect  the  admission  money, 
and  he  was  likely  to  be  spitted  by  the  first  impecunious 

1  La  Com'edie  de  Moliere. 

*  See  note,  page  194. 

8  Two  registers  kept  by  La  Thorilliere,  and  so^tohat  similar  in 
purpose  to  La  Grange's  famous  work,  are  preservecM  HI  archives  of 
La  Com'edie  fran^aise.  They  cover  the  period  from^April  sixteenth, 
1663,  to  January  sixth,  1665,  and  chronicle  the  expense  account  of 
the  troupe.  The  first  of  these  registers  was  republished  in  1890  by 
G.  Monval  in  his  Molieresque  collection. 


THEATRICAL  AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE     233 

swashbuckler  to  whom  he  refused  admittance;  hence 
the  four  gifts  of  from  three  to  eleven  livres  each  to  a 
wounded  porter,  recorded  by  La  Thorilliere.  More- 
over, during  July,  1664,  a  police  guard  was  required  at 
Moliere's  theatre  for  nearly  every  performance.  This 
may  seem  an  anomaly  in  the  law  and  order  reign  of 
Louis  XIV;  yet  howsoever  pacified  the  noble-born  fron- 
deurs  may  have  become,  the  populace  was  far  from  tran- 
quil, and  street  duels  were  of  almost  daily  occurrence. 
The  retainers  of  great  nobles  considered  themselves 
above  the  law,  and  the  theatre  was  a  favourite  haunt  for 
plumed  and  begirdled  rascallions  of  all  degrees. 

The  King's  musketeers,  life-guards,  gendarmes^  and 
light  horse  were  "  dead  heads,"  and  the  troopers  of 
these  favoured  corps  filled  the  -parterre  in  such  boisterous 
numbers,  according  to  Grimarest,  that  Moliere  obtained 
a  revocation  of  this  privilege  from  the  sovereign  ;  where- 
upon the  irate  soldiery  forced  the  theatre  doors  and  "  by 
dint  of  sword  "  sought  to  avenge  the  loss  of  their  pre- 
rogatives. The  porter  fell,  pierced  by  "  a  hundred 
thrusts,"  and  his  assailants  were  about  to  wreak  ven- 
geance upon  the  actors  themselves  when  Louis  Bejart, 
made  up  as  an  octogenarian  for  the  play  in  hand,  begged 
them  at  least  to  "  spare  an  old  man  of  seventy-five  who 
had  but  a  few  days  to  live."  Bejart  demonstrated  his 
right  to  the  sobriquet  of  UEguise  (the  sharp),  for  his 
presence  of  mind  turned  the  ire  of  these  spadassins  to 
laughter,  whereupon  Moliere,  taking  the  stage,  lectured 
them  upon  their  behaviour  until  they  sheepishly  with- 
drew ;  but  so  great  had  been  the  tumult  that  a  veritable 
panic  ensued  among  the  members  of  the  company. 
Hubert  and  his  wife  dug  a  hole  in  the  wall  of  the  Palais 
Royal ;  and  the  husband,  with  manlike  trepidity,  forced 


234  MOLIERE 

his  way  in  first ;  but  the  exit  being  only  big  enough  for 
his  head  and  shoulders,  he  became  wedged  therein,  and 
raved  like  a  madman  until  the  riot  subsided  and  he  was 
rescued  from  his  precarious  position. 

After  this  experience  Moliere's  actors  were  willing 
enough  to  renew  the  "dead  head  privileges"  of  the 
soldiery ;  but  the  manager  opposed  any  concession,  and 
his  adroitness  in  assuring  the  guards  sent  to  protect  the 
theatre  that  he  had  sought  only  to  exclude  a  few  scoun- 
drels who  were  masquerading  as  musketeers,  seconded, 
no  doubt,  by  royal  command,  so  mollified  the  wearers 
of  the  King's  livery  that  further  outbreak  on  their  part 
was  avoided. 

On  another  occasion  a  theatre  porter  named  Germain 
was  attacked  by  five  retainers  of  a  nobleman's  house- 
hold, and  rescued  only  after  one  of  the  offenders  had 
been  killed  and  another  wounded  by  two  pistol  shots 
fired  by  an  unknown  hand.  Once  when  Moliere  was 
playing  in  La  Comtesse  cT Escarbagnas,  he  became  a  target 
for  stones  and  "  the  stub  of  an  old  pipe,"  while  at  the 
end  of  the  play  a  nobleman's  page  augmented  the  dis- 
turbance by  beating  a  young  man  in  the  audience  on  the 
head  with  a  bludgeon.  A  king's  counsellor,  seated  on 
the  stage,  sought  to  calm  the  rioters  by  calling  upon 
them  to  remember  that  they  were  in  the  presence  of 
one  of  their  judges ;  whereupon  "  a  young  man  in  a 
black  velvet  doublet  with  a  sword  at  his  side  and  a 
white  plumed  hat  upon  his  head,"  raised  his  voice  and 
cried  disdainfully,  "  We  defy  our  judges  !  We  have  no 
judges !  "  —  a  manifesto  so  popular  that  the  counsellor 
was  glad  to  escape  with  his  life.  At  a  performance  of 
Psyche  given  a  few  weeks  before  Moliere's  death,  some 
fifty  or  sixty  rowdies  stopped  the  play,  and  when  La 


The  soldiers  invading  the  theatre 


THEATRICAL  AND   DOMESTIC   LIFE     235 

Thorilliere,  addressing  the  audience  at  the  instigation  of 
another  king's  counsellor,  offered  to  return  the  dis- 
turbers their  money  or  lower  the  curtain,  they  replied 
that  they  did  not  care  a  hang  for  their  money,  but  only 
wished  to  be  amused,  upon  which  assurance  the  play 
proceeded.1 

Filling  the  triple  role  of  author,  manager,  and  come- 
dian amid  such  turbulent  surroundings,  Moliere  presents, 
indeed,  an  heroic  figure,  especially  when  it  is  remembered 
that  besides  fighting  hypocrites,  quelling  riots  in  his 
theatre,  settling  the  squabbles  of  his  players,  and  acting 
four  times  a  week,  he  wrote  an  average  of  two  comedies 
a  year,  in  which  he  was  called  upon  to  provide  satisfactory 
roles  for  four  actresses  with  almost  equally  tenable  claims 
to  the  centre  of  the  stage,  the  most  capricious  of  whom 
was  his  own  wife. 

The  evidence  of  The  School  for  Wives,  The  Versailles 
Impromptu,  and  The  Forced  Marriage  all  tends  to  prove 
that  Moliere's  eyes  were  early  opened  to  the  shortcom- 
ings of  Armande  Bejart ;  yet  until  the  time  of  the  fetes 
known  as  "  The  Pleasures  of  the  Enchanted  Isle,"  this 
ill  assorted  couple  dwelt  together  in  apparent  concord. 
At  Versailles,  however,  Armande  Bejart  became  the 
theatrical  centre  of  a  very  theatric  occasion.  She  rode 
upon  Apollo's  chariot  as  the  Age  of  Gold,  played  Diana 
to  Moliere's  Pan,  and  as  one  of  Alcina's  nymphs  floated 
about  the  Basin  of  Apollo  on  a  wooden  sea  monster; 
while,  to  crown  her  triumphs,  she  appeared  upon  a  ver- 
dant stage  as  the  Princess  of  Elis.  Her  power  to  charm 
the  beholder  in  this  role  can  be  no  better  told  than  in  the 
words  of  Euryale,  the  enraptured  prince  of  the  play  : 

1   Documents  inedits  sur  J.-B.  Poquelin  Moliere  by  Emile  Campardon. 


236  MOLIERE 

She  is,  in  truth,  adorable  at  all  times;  but  at  that 
moment  more  so  than  ever,  and  new  charms  redoubled 
the  splendour  of  her  beauty.  Never  was  her  face  adorned 
with  more  lovely  colours ;  never  were  her  eyes  armed 
with  swifter  or  more  piercing  arrows.  The  softness  of 
her  voice  persisted  in  showing  itself  in  the  perfectly 
charming  air  which  she  deigned  to  sing ;  and  the  marvel- 
lous tones  she  uttered  pierced  the  very  depth  of  my  soul 
and  held  all  my  senses  in  a  rapture  from  which  they  were 
unable  to  escape.  She  next  showed  a  disposition  alto- 
gether divine;  her  lovable  feet  on  the  enamel  of  the  soft 
turf  traced  delightful  steps,  which  carried  me  quite  beyond 
myself  and  bound  me  by  irresistible  bonds  to  the  grace- 
ful and  accurate  movements  with  which  her  whole  body 
followed  those  harmonious  motions. 

Armande  Bejart  had  in  her  soul  the  passion  and  the 
instinct  of  the  theatre.  Sooner  or  later,  she  would  have 
given  a  husband  of  Moliere's  temperament  real  or  imagi- 
native cause  for  jealousy.  To  the  great  majority  of 
Moliere's  biographers  she  is  a  grossly  unfaithful  wife, 
singularly  ungrateful  for  the  kindness  and  affection  of 
the  man  whose  great  name  she  bore ;  yet  when  the  evi- 
dence against  her  is  examined  minutely,  the  only  fact 
clearly  established  is  that  she  and  Moliere  separated  after 
a  few  years  of  married  life.  Whether  this  marital  dis- 
agreement was  caused  by  actual  misconduct  on  her  part 
during  the  Versailles  fetes,  or  merely  by  the  impru- 
dent flirtations  in  which  she  apparently  indulged,  is 
exceedingly  difficult  to  determine.  Indeed,  the  most 
tangible  evidence  against  her  is  that  of  Moliere's  own 
plays. 

If  it  be  admitted  that  on  many  occasions  the  poet 
wrote  subjectively,  then  his  heroines  become  more  or  less 
faithful  portraits  of  his  wife  as  she  appeared  to  him  at 


THEATRICAL   AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE     237 

various  moments  of  his  life  ;  his  heroes,  not  himself  cer- 
tainly, but  the  embodiment  of  his  overburdened  heart. 
A  critic  whose  own  work  has  been  purely  technical  or 
objective  will  be  likely  to  scoff  at  the  personal  equation 
in  Moliere's  comedies ;  but  an  imaginative  writer  knows 
how,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  both  characters  and 
opinions  are  tempered  by  an  author's  own  experience  in 
life.  Moliere,  a  man  of  forty,  married  a  giddy  girl  of 
twenty ;  and  thereafter  the  theme  of  a  middle  aged  man's 
love  for  a  young  and  frivolous  woman  recurs  in  his  plays 
with  such  singular  frequency  that  to  deny  subjectiveness 
to  his  work  is  to  deny  the  man  a  heart  capable  of  voicing 
its  own  misery. 

The  reader  has  seen  how  Ariste's  generous  views  of 
women,  as  expressed  in  The  School  for  Husbands  shortly 
before  Moliere's  own  marriage,  differed  from  those  voiced 
in  The  School  for  Wives,  a  few  months  thereafter,  by  the 
pathetic,  unrequited  love  of  Arnolphe,  a  man  who  had 
learned 

—  the  artful  tricks,  the  subtle  plots 
Which  women  use  to  leave  us  in  the  lurch, 
And  how  they  dupe  us  by  their  cleverness. 

It  has  been  urged,  probably  by  bachelors,  that,  when 
The  School  for  Wives  was  written,  Moliere  had  not  been 
married  sufficiently  long  to  have  discovered  his  wife's 
real  character ;  yet  many  a  man  besides  him  has  been 
disillusioned  ere  the  honeymoon  has  waned. 

In  The  Forced  Marriage,  presented  but  a  few  months 
before  Armande  Bejart  played  so  prominent  a  part  at 
Versailles,  Dorimene,  the  flighty  young  heroine,  tells 
Sganarelle,  her  bourgeois  fiance,  that  after  marriage  she 
means  to  give  herself  over  to  pleasure,  and  make  up  for 
the  time  she  has  lost.  "  As  you  are  a  well  bred  man," 


238  MOLIERE 

she  says,  "  and  know  the  world,  I  think  we  shall  get  on 
together  famously,  and  that  you  will  not  be  one  of  those 
bothering  husbands  who  expect  their  wives  to  live  like 
bugbears.  I  confess  that  would  not  suit  me.  Solitude 
drives  me  mad.  I  like  gambling,  visiting,  assemblies, 
entertainments,  promenades,  in  fact,  all  kinds  of  pleasure  ; 
and  you  should  be  overjoyed  to  have  a  wife  with  my 
tastes." 

Giving  birth  to  her  first  child,  Louis,  for  whom  the 
King  stood  sponsor,  only  ten  days  before  this  play  was 
produced,  Armande  Bejart  was  unable  to  speak  these 
lines ;  yet  who  will  deny  the  aptness  of  their  reference  to 
herself?  The  reader  will  recall  how  faithfully  Moliere 
painted  her  portrait  in  The  Burgher,  a  Gentleman;* 
while  in  George  Dandin  the  heroine  complains  of  the 
tyranny  of  husbands  "  who  wish  their  wives  to  be  dead 
to  all  amusements  and  to  live  only  for  them."  Further- 
more, in  The  Misanthrope,  —  a  comedy  to  be  considered 
at  length  in  the  ensuing  chapter,  —  the  similarity  between 
fact  and  fiction  is  even  more  striking. 

That  Armande  Bejart,  instead  of  being  actually  vi- 
cious, was  merely  a  vain  and  incorrigible  flirt,  is  the 
view  Grimarest  takes  of  her  character  in  the  following 
paragraph : 

No  sooner  was  she  Mile,  de  Moliere  than  she  be- 
lieved she  ranked  with  a  duchess ;  and  scarcely  had  she 
appeared  upon  the  stage  ere  the  idle  courtier  made  her 
the  topic  of  his  tales.  .  .  .  Moliere  imagined  that  the 
entire  court  and  all  the  town  had  designs  upon  his  wife, 
and  she  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  disabuse  his  mind  of 
this  idea.  On  the  contrary,  her  scrupulous  care  in  dress, 
designed,  as  he  supposed,  for  every  one  but  himself,  and 

1  See  page  151. 


THEATRICAL  AND    DOMESTIC   LIFE     239 

a  proceeding  he  did  not  care  for,  only  increased  his  sus- 
picion and  jealousy.  He  tried  to  point  out  the  way  she 
must  behave  if  their  domestic  happiness  was  to  be  as- 
sured, but  his  teaching  seemed  to  her  too  severe  for  a 
young  person  who,  besides,  had  nothing  with  which  to 
reproach  herself;  so  she  failed  to  profit  thereby. 

Moliere  suffered  much  from  the  heartlessness  of  his 
wife,  but  that  he  believed  her  guilty  of  transgressing  the 
decalogue  is  still  unproved.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
anonymous  author  of  'The  Famous  Comedienne,  it  is  prob- 
able, to  quote  Mr.  H.  Noel  Williams,  "  that  Armande's 
name  would  have  gone  down  to  posterity  without  any 
very  serious  stain  upon  it."  l 

The  first  lover  imputed  to  her  is  the  Abbe  de 
Richelieu,  a  grand-nephew  of  the  noted  cardinal,  and  a 
libertine  with  a  marked  partiality  for  actresses.  To 
quote  The  Famous  Comedienne : 2 

He  was  very  liberal,  and,  the  young  woman  being 
fond  of  expenditure,  the  matter  was  quickly  arranged 
between  them.  In  order  that  her  engagement  to  him 
might  be  manifested  in  the  finest  style,  it  was  agreed  that 
he  should  give  her  four  pistoles  a  day,  exclusive  of  clothes 
and  entertainments.  The  abbe  did  not  fail  to  send  each 
morning,  by  a  page,  the  pledge  of  their  compact  or  to 
visit  her  every  afternoon. 

1  Queens  of  the  French  Stage. 

2  The  authorship  of  this  scurrilous  pamphlet  has  been  attributed,  suc- 
cessively,  to  Racine,   La  Fontaine,    Chapelle,    Blot,    a  balladist  of  the 
Fronde,   and    Rasimont,    an    actor,    without    any  apparent    rhyme    or 
reason  ;    likewise    to    Mile.  Guyot,     a   member    of  Armande    Bejart's 
company  after  Moliere's  death,  and  to  Mile.  Boudin,  a  provincial  actress. 
M.  Gustave  Larroumet  believes  that  because  of  the  preponderating  place 
it  allots  to  women  and  the  manner  in  which  it  speaks  of  men,  the  author 
was   one  of  Armande's  professional  rivals.      The   present    writer    fully 
concurs  in  this  opinion. 


24o  MOLIERE 

Armande  Bejart  bore  Moliere  a  son  on  January  nine- 
teenth, 1664,  and  the  Abbe  de  Richelieu  left  France  in 
March  of  that  same  year  to  war  against  the  Turks  in 
Hungary,  and  died  at  Venice,  on  January  ninth,  1665; 
so  it  is  apparent  that  any  intrigue  between  this  church- 
man and  Moliere's  wife  must  have  taken  place  before 
the  lady's  honeymoon  was  fully  eclipsed.  To  conceive 
of  the  abbe's  page  knocking  at  the  bridal  chamber  each 
morning  with  his  master's  pistoles  requires  too  fanciful  a 
flight  of  the  imagination  for  the  modern  mind  to  com- 
pass ;  yet  our  anonymous  vilifier  thus  proceeds  to  detail 
another  adventure  quite  as  improbable  : 

The  abbe's  affair  lasted  several  months  without  dis- 
ruption ;  but  Moliere  having  written  The  Princess  of  E/isy 
in  which  La  Moliere  played  the  princess,  she  created  such 
a  sensation  that  her  husband  had  cause  to  repent  of  having 
exhibited  her  in  the  region  of  gilded  youth.  Scarcely 
had  she  arrived  at  Chambord,  where  the  King  gave  this 
entertainment,  than  she  became  infatuated  with  the  Comte 
de  Guiche,  while  the  Comte  de  Lauzun  fell  madly  in 
love  with  her.  The  latter  spared  no  effort  to  please  her, 
but  La  Moliere,  having  lost  her  head  over  her  hero, 
would  listen  to  no  proposition,  and  contented  herself  with 
visiting  Du  Pare  to  weep  over  the  indifference  of  the 
Comte  de  Guiche.  The  Comte  de  Lauzun,  however, 
did  not  abandon  hope  of  triumphing,  experience  having 
taught  him  that  he  was  irresistible.  Furthermore,  he 
knew  that  the  Comte  de  Guiche  was  one  who  set  small 
store  by  woman's  love,  for  which  reason  he  doubted  not 
his  indifference  would  end  in  the  repulse  of  La  Moliere, 
and  that  his  own  star  would  then  produce  in  her  heart 
what  it  had  produced  in  the  hearts  of  all  the  women  he 
had  essayed  to  please.  He  was  not  deceived;  for  La 
Moliere,  angered  by  the  coldness  of  the  Comte  de  Guiche, 
threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  Comte  de  Lauzun  as 


THEATRICAL   AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE     241 

if  desirous  of  seeking  protection  against  further  suffer- 
ing at  the  hands  of  a  man  who  failed  to  appreciate  her. 

At  the  time  of  the  Versailles  fetes  the  Comte  de 
Guiche  was  in  exile  at  Warsaw;  but  he  returned  during 
the  summer  and  was  at  Fontainebleau  when  Moliere's 
company  played  there  in  August.  However,  he  was 
falling  passionately  in  love  with  the  Duchesse  d'Orleans 
at  the  time,  while  the  Comte  de  Lauzun,  whose  presence 
at  the  Versailles  fetes,  although  unrecorded,  is  possible, 
presents  a  similar  amorous  alibi,  for  his  affections  were 
then  engaged  by  the  Princess  of  Monaco.  Still,  it  would 
be  easy  to  believe  that  the  notoriously  expansive  hearts 
of  both  these  gentlemen  had  beaten  for  a  pretty  ac- 
tress as  well,  were  it  not  that  the  Abbe  de  Richelieu, 
then  engaged  in  cutting  the  Turk's  head  (in  reality, 
not  a  V  allemande\  is  made  by  the  author  of  The  Fa- 
mous Comedienne  to  play  the  abhorrent  role  of  a  resentful 
sneak  who,  intercepting  a  tender  letter  written  by  Ar- 
mande  to  De  Guiche,  calls  Moliere's  attention  to  the 
fact  that  "the  great  care  he  took  to  please  the  public 
left  him  no  time  for  examining  the  conduct  of  his  own 
wife." 

When  the  abbe  had  furnished  this  meat  for  Moliere's 
jealousy  to  feed  upon,  a  bitter  matrimonial  quarrel  fol- 
lowed, according  to  this  anonymous  author.  Shedding 
repentant  tears,  Armande  confessed  her  love  for  De 
Guiche,  but  said  nothing  about  Lauzun  ;  then,  protest- 
ing that  her  guilt  was  only  in  intention,  she  obtained 
Moliere's  forgiveness  "merely  to  continue  her  intrigues 
with  more  eclat  than  ever." 

Tiring  of  unrequited  sentiments,  such  as  her  love  for 
De  Guiche,  she  resolved  to  make  profit  of  her  charms, 

16 


242  MOLIERE 

the  writer  goes  on  to  say  ;  but  in  due  course  of  time 
Moliere  learned  anew  of  her  misconduct  and  forthwith 
threatened  to  confine  her  in  a  convent.  Armande  wept 
and  swooned,  but  instead  of  entreating  pardon,  as  before, 
turned  the  tables  upon  her  husband  by  charging  him 
with  undue  intimacy  with  his  former  flame,  Mile,  de 
Brie.  Conceiving  henceforth  "  a  terrible  aversion  "  for 
her  husband,  she  treated  him  with  the  greatest  con- 
tempt, until  matters  reached  such  extremities  that  Mo- 
liere, "  beginning  to  realise  her  wicked  propensities," 
consented  to  the  separation  she  demanded;  so,  "without 
a  parliamentary  decree,  they  agreed  to  live  together  nd 
longer." 

Finally  the  author  of  The  Famous  Comedienne  stands 
upon  tenable  ground ;  for  although  the  three  lovers  are 
apparently  chosen  at  hazard,  the  separation  here  re- 
counted undoubtedly  took  place.  As  for  the  part  played 
by  Mile,  de  Brie  in  bringing  this  to  pass,  this  same 
scandalmonger  asserts  that  she  lived  in  Moliere's  house. 
If  this  were  the  case,  any  one  familiar  with  theatrical 
life  will  readily  perceive  that  she  must  have  proved  a 
warring  element ;  yet  the  modern  writers  who  assert  the 
truth  of  the  contention  that  "  Mile,  de  Brie  lived  in  the 
Moliere  house  and  had  not  left  it  since  the  marriage," 
have  drawn  their  information,  to  quote  M.  Mesnard, 
"  from  no  source  we  are  aware  of  besides  The  Famous 
Comedienne."1' f 

It  is  difficult  to  follow  with  certainty  the  various 
changes  of  residence  made  by  Moliere ;  but  the  most 
likely  theory  is  that  at  the  time  of  his  marriage  he  was 
living  in  his  father's  house,  where  he  remained  until  he 
moved  to  the  rue  St.  Thomas  du  Louvre  to  occupy 

1  (Euvres  de  Moliere. 


THEATRICAL  AND   DOMESTIC   LIFE     243 

lodgings  in  a  building  owned  by  one  Milet,  marechal  des 
camps  et  armees  du  Roi.  The  first  record  of  his  residence 
in  the  latter  establishment  is  found  in  the  burial  per- 
mit for  his  first  child,  dated  November  eleventh,  1664. 
M.  Milet  likewise  rented  apartments  to  Madeleine,  Gene- 
vieve,  and  Louis  Bejart;  so,  again  to  quote  M.  Mes- 
nard,  "  it  would  not  be  surprising  to  find  Mile,  de  Brie 
in  the  house  in  the  rue  St.  Thomas  du  Louvre,  since  it 
was  customary  for  the  actors  of  the  same  troupe  to  lodge 
near  each  other."  It  was  certainly  an  unwise  move  on 
Moliere's  part  to  take  his  young  wife  to  live  with  her 
brother  and  sisters ;  and  if  Mile,  de  Brie  and  other 
theatrical  ladies  dwelt  under  the  same  roof,  the  domestic 
tranquillity  he  sought  was  impossible  of  attainment. 

Another  disturbing  element  was  introduced  into  his 
household  by  Moliere  himself  in  the  person  of  Michel 
Baron,  a  child  comedian  he  rescued  from  a  strolling  com- 
pany. Both  the  mother  and  the  father  of  this  boy  had 
acted  at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  with  considerable  suc- 
cess ;  and,  being  left  an  orphan  at  an  early  age,  he  was 
apprenticed  by  an  aunt  and  uncle  to  a  troupe  of  child 
actors  managed  by  a  woman  named  Raisin.  Having 
squandered  in  the  provinces  the  profits  of  her  venture 
upon  a  gentleman  attached  to  the  Prince  of  Monaco's 
suite,  this  woman  came  to  Paris  in  1664  to  recoup  her 
fortunes,  where,  appealing  to  Moliere's  charitable  heart, 
she  obtained  the  use  of  his  theatre  for  three  perform- 
ances. Young  Baron's  acting  on  this  occasion  made  such 
an  impression  on  the  great  man  that  he  took  the  lad  to 
his  house  to  sleep,  and  had  him  sumptuously  dressed  in 
new  clothes.  Grimarest,  whose  materials  for  his  biography 
were  obtained  from  Baron  himself,  may  here  be  allowed 
to  speak  ex  cathedra : 


244  MOLIERE 

Moliere  asked  the  lad  what  he  most  wished  for  at  that 
moment.  "  To  be  with  you  for  the  rest  of  my  days," 
Baron  replied,  "  in  order  to  show  my  sincere  gratitude  for 
all  your  kindness  to  me."  "  Very  well,"  said  Moliere, 
"  the  thing  is  done  ;  for  the  King  has  given  me  permis- 
sion to  take  you  out  of  the  troupe  you  are  in." 

Mme.  Raisin  naturally  objected  to  being  forcibly  de- 
prived of  her  star  performer;  but  there  was  no  gainsay- 
ing the  King's  will,  so  young  Baron  was  transferred  to 
Moliere's  care,  henceforth  to  be  treated  as  a  son.  The 
poet's  interest  in  the  lad  was  justified,  for  he  became,  in 
later  years,  the  greatest  actor  of  his  day,  as  well  as  a 
successful  dramatist ;  but  Moliere's  fondness  was  not 
shared  by  his  wife,  nor  did  Baron's  own  conduct  fully 
justify  his  benefactor's  interest.  It  appears  that  Ar- 
mande  hated  the  lad  for  his  impertinence  and  precocity, 
and  still  more  for  the  influence  she  believed  he  exercised 
over  her  husband. 

To  display  the  talents  of  his  protege  at  court,  Moliere 
began  the  writing  of  Melicerte,  a  play  he  was  pleased  to 
term  An  Heroic  Pastoral.  This  comedy  was  intended 
for  production  at  a  fete  known  as  "  The  Ballet  of  the 
Muses,"  held  at  St.  Germain  in  December,  1666. 
Baron  was  cast  for  the  title  role ;  but  one  day,  at  re- 
hearsal, Armande  Bejart's  resentment  and  jealousy  rose 
to  such  a  point  that  she  dealt  the  lad  a  sound  box  on  the 
ear.  So  indignant  was  he  that  he  took  himself  off  forth- 
with to  join  his  former  manageress,  leaving  Moliere  with 
an  unfinished  play  and  no  one  for  the  leading  part. 

As  Baron  was  then  a  handsome  lad  in  his  teens, 
"  already  in  great  request  among  the  ladies  of  the  theatre 
and  also  among  certain  ladies  of  the  fashionable  world," 
Armande's  resentment  was  possibly  caused  by  his  indif- 


THEATRICAL  AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE     245 

ference  to  her.  Moliere  should  have  been  thankful  to 
be  rid  of  the  young  scamp ;  but  such  was  not  the  case, 
since  Baron  returned  to  the  Palais  Royal  several  years 
later,  at  its  manager's  earnest  solicitation. 

Although  the  date  of  Moliere's  rupture  with  his  wife 
is  uncertain,  manifestly  it  took  place  shortly  after  the 
Baron  episode,  since  early  in  the  following  year  (1667) 
the  poet  became  so  ill  from  overwork  and  domestic  worry 
that  he  lived  upon  a  milk  diet  for  two  months,  and  re- 
tired to  an  apartment  in  a  large  country  house  at  Auteuil 
which  he  had  rented  from  one  Jacques  de  Grou.  There 
he  dwelt  until  he  became  reconciled  to  his  wife,  some 
four  years  later.1 

The  milk  diet  suggests  alimentary  ills  and  a  dis- 
ordered nervous  system.  Indeed,  there  is  considerable 
reason  for  believing  that  although  Moliere  died  of  a  lung 
trouble,  he  was  long  a  sufferer  from  neurasthenia,  a 
malady  so  often  the  result  of  excessive  mental  work. 
His  irritability,  moroseness,  excessive  tenderness,  violent 
jealousy,  and  the  strong  introspective  tendency  displayed 
in  his  plays,  all  suggest  that  complaint ;  and  indeed 
there  are  few  brain  workers  who  have  not,  at  some 
time  and  in  some  degree,  suffered  the  torments  of  that 
intangible  disease. 

Some  have  maintained  that  Moliere's  disposition  was 
the  cause  of  his  wife's  misconduct,  —  a  criticism  not  with- 
out reason ;  for  once  a  husband  has  "  got  on  a  wife's 
nerves,"  to  use  a  colloquial  expression,  the  latter,  if  she 
be  at  all  flighty  by  nature,  will  be  likely  to  seek  diver- 
sion everywhere  save  at  home.  In  this  connection  M. 
Mesnard's  remarks  seem  most  pertinent  : 

1  Les  Points  obscurs  de  la  vie  de  Moliere  by  Jules  Loiseleur. 


246  MOLIERE 

It  has  been  said  that  Moliere's  restless  character  and 
jealous  transports  irritated  his  wife's  nature  to  such  a 
degree  that  she  sought  vengeance  for  this  tiresome  want 
of  confidence  in  flirtatious  bravado.  This  apology  for 
Mme.  Moliere  is  at  best  excessive,  since  to  strike  an 
even  balance  for  this  couple  appears  to  us  an  injustice. 
However,  we  shall  oppose  no  difficulty  in  the  way  of 
recognising  the  discord  of  their  characters,  or  certain  of 
Moliere's  traits  likely  to  appal  a  frivolous  young  wife. 
Doubtless  the  great  man  appeared  to  her  too  much  of 
a  philosopher  and  dreamer,  often  too  melancholy,  and, 
when  borne  down  by  the  weight  of  his  incessant  work, 
more  harassed  than  she  would  have  wished  for  her  pleas- 
ure and  comfort;  while  he  felt  the  need  of  a  tranquil 
home  and  a  tenderness  equal  to  his  own.  The  inborn 
jealousy  which  in  his  stage  life  passed  for  mere  oddity 
made  him  appear  to  this  Bejart  an  importunate,  trouble- 
some husband.  She  might  well  exclaim,  like  Celimene 
in  The  Misanthrope:  "There  are  a  hundred  moments 
when  I  find  him  the  greatest  bore  in  the  world."  Still 
was  he  not  easily  enraged,  and  had  he  not  offensive  man- 
ners and  impatient  impulses  P  One  might  perhaps  cite, 
in  proof  of  this,  the  anecdote  told  by  Grimarest  about 
his  anger  against  a  valet  who  twice  put  on  one  of  his 
stockings  wrong  side  out,  but  this  proof  is  very  meagre. 
One  moment  of  passion  does  not  convey  the  right  to 
regard  as  unmerited  Moliere's  reputation  for  much  gen- 
tleness and  unrestrained  kindness  toward  those  who 
served  him.1 

In  his  contention  that  Moliere's  faults  were  not  in- 
supportable, M.  Mesnard  submits  the  evidence  of  Mile. 
Poisson,  daughter  of  the  poet's  old  comrade,  Du  Croisy, 
to  the  effect  that  he  was  "  kind,  obliging,  and  generous." 
Now,  it  is  often  the  case  that  persons  the  most  irritable 
at  home  show,  in  the  presence  of  strangers,  the  very 

1  Notice  biograpbique  sur  Afoliere. 


THEATRICAL  AND   DOMESTIC   LIFE     247 

qualities  Mile.  Poisson  cites.  If  the  so-called  artistic 
temperament  be  analysed,  it  will  be  found  to  be  little 
else  than  a  nervous  disease ;  for  the  very  transports  an 
artist  experiences  when  in  the  throes  of  creation  are  off- 
set by  restless  fits  of  depression  at  his  inability  to  inter- 
pret his  conceptions  satisfactorily,  or  intense  outbursts 
of  passion  toward  unappreciating  critics,  all  of  which 
bespeaks  an  unequable  nature  and  disordered  nerves. 
Tranquillity  of  mind  is  a  characteristic  of  mediocre 
people,  but  not  of  great  artists  such  as  Moliere.  Re- 
member, he  was  twenty  years  his  wife's  senior,  and,  de- 
spite his  brilliance,  generosity,  and  kindness,  it  is  easy 
to  imagine  he  was  not  easy  to  relish  as  a  daily  conjugal 
diet.  Such  a  psychological  view  of  this  couple's  incom- 
patibility makes  Moliere's  wretchedness  of  heart  no  less 
intense,  nor  his  wife  less  culpable  for  her  failure  to  love, 
honour,  and  obey  a  man  so  manifestly  her  superior  in 
both  ability  and  moral  worth.  It  merely  makes  clear  the 
impossibility  of  such  an  ill  mated  pair  ever  living  together 
in  peace  and  comfort. 

Physiognomy,  too,  may  be  cited  as  evidence  of  this 
couple's  incongruity.  For  instance,  Loret  calls  Ar- 
mande  Bejart  "  the  actress  with  the  pretty  face  ";  while 
Robinet,  another  rhymester  of  the  period,  says  "  noth- 
ing could  be  so  beautiful  or  dainty  as  she."  Her  lord 
and  master,  however,  judging  by  the  following  word 
portrait  painted  by  Du  Croisy's  daughter,1  could  scarcely 
be  dubbed  a  handsome  man  : 

Moliere  was  neither  too  fat  nor  too  thin.     He  was 

tall  rather  than  short,  his  bearing  was  noble,  his  leg  well 

turned.     He  walked  sedately,  his  manner  was  serious, 

his  nose  important,  his  mouth  large,  his  lips  thick,  his 

1  See  note,  page  81. 


248  MOLIERE 

complexion  dark,  his  eyebrows  black  and  bushy,  while 
the  various  twitches  he  gave  them  made  his  expression 
extremely  comical.  l 

After  the  rupture  with  his  wife,  Moliere,  to  quote 
Grimarest,2  "  did  his  utmost  to  confine  himself  to  his 
works  and  to  his  friends  without  grieving  over  his  wife's 
conduct."  In  his  retreat  at  Auteuil  "  he  lived  as  a  true 
philosopher,"  where,  "  engaged  in  pleasing  his  Prince 
with  his  works  and  in  acquiring  an  honest  reputation,  he 
bothered  little  about  the  caprices  of  his  wife,  whom  he 
allowed  to  live  according  to  her  fancy,  although  he  re- 
tained for  her  a  veritable  affection." 

This  tenderness  is  further  attested  by  Moliere's  first 
biographer  in  an  account  of  a  conversation  between  the 
poet  and  his  friend  Jacques  Rohault,  a  noted  Cartesian 
philosopher.  "  Yes,  my  dear  Rohault,"  Moliere  is 
quoted  as  saying,  "  I  am  the  most  wretched  of  men,  yet 
I  deserve  my  fate.  Not  seeing  I  was  too  austere  for  a 

1  During  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1905  a  prolonged  discussion  oc- 
curred in  the  French  press  regarding  the  moustache  made  so  familiar  by 
the  existing  portraits  of  Moliere.      In  one  of  these  he  is  presented  with 
a  smooth  face  ;  yet  it  seems  most  likely  that  he  wore  a  slight  moustache, 
which  on  the  stage   was  extended  by  means  of  charcoal   in  accordance 
with  the  fashion  set  by  Scaramouche.      This  is  the  opinion  expressed  by 
M.  Georges  Monval,  the  venerable  archivist  of  the  Comedie  Francaise 
and  for  ten  years  editor  of  the  Molieriste  ;  yet  a  writer  in  the  Westmin- 
ster  Gazette  may  be  quoted,  in  this  connection,  with  a  certain  amount 
of  pertinency.      "The  amusing  part  of  this  controversy,"  he  says,  "is 
that  none  of  those  who  engaged  in  it  seem  to  have  hit  upon  the  idea  that 
Moliere,  like  minor  mortals,  might  have  worn  a  moustache  at  one  period 
of  his  life  and  lived  without  it  at  another." 

2  For  events  occurring  after  the  advent  of  Baron  as  a  factor  in  Moliere's 
life,  Grimarest,  who  learned  his  facts  from  this  actor's  lips,  seems,  to  the 
present  writer,  a  far  more  trustworthy  authority  than  for  happenings  pre- 
vious to  the  time  when  Baron  joined  the  forces  of  the  Palais  Royal. 


THEATRICAL   AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE     249 

domestic  life,  I  felt  my  wife  should  subject  her  behaviour 
to  her  virtue  and  my  wishes ;  yet,  had  she  done  so,  I 
fully  realise  that  she  would  have  been  far  more  miserable 
than  I.  She  is  sprightly  and  witty,  and  keen  for  the 
pleasure  of  making  herself  appreciated ;  yet,  in  spite  of 
myself,  this  makes  me  gloomy."  Again,  in  the  same 
imaginary  conversation,  Moliere  is  made  to  say  that  "  a 
hundred  times  more  reasonable  than  he,  his  wife  wants 
to  enjoy  life ;  so,  confident  in  her  innocence,  she  goes 
her  own  way,  disdaining  to  subject  herself  to  the  pre- 
cautions I  demand."  Surely  this  does  not  savour  of  a 
belief  in  her  misbehaviour  !  Moreover,  Moliere,  still 
speaking  with  Grimarest  as  his  mouthpiece,  exclaims 
that  his  wife,  above  suspicion  on  the  part  of  any  one 
less  disturbed  than  he,  "  unmercifully  leaves  him  to  suf- 
fer "  and  "  laughs  at  his  weakness." 

Whether  innocent  or  not  of  actual  misconduct,  Ar- 
mande  Bejart's  frivolity  was  ill  contrived  to  bring  peace 
and  happiness  to  the  heart  of  such  a  man  as  Moliere. 
To  quote  Shakespeare's  immortal  tragedy  of  jealousy, 

"  But,  O,  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o'er 

Who  dotes,  yet  doubts,  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves !  " 

In  tfhe  Famous  Comedienne  there  is  an  oft  quoted 
scene,  which,  while  raising  that  contemptible  screed  to 
the  dignity  of  literature,  paints  the  "  damned  minutes  " 
Moliere  underwent  so  vividly  that  one  is  loath  to  be- 
lieve it  the  work  of  a  traducer.  Here,  in  another  imagi- 
nary conversation,  Moliere  again  unburdens  his  heart. 
The  friend  on  this  occasion  is  Chapelle,  the  epicurean 
comrade  of  his  youth ;  and  so  touching  are  the  poet's 
words,  so  replete  with  true  sentiment  and  feeling,  that 
some  have  believed  them  to  be  taken  from  an  actual 
letter  written  to  his  friend  by  the  poet  himself. 


25o  MOLlfiRE 

The  scene  is  Moliere's  garden  at  Auteuil ;  the  topic, 
his  unhappiness ;  for  Chapelle,  seeing  his  friend  is  more 
disturbed  than  is  his  wont,  rallies  him  upon  his  weak- 
ness, and  maintains  that  nothing  is  more  ridiculous  than 
to  love  any  one  who  will  not  respond  to  his  affection. 

cccFor  my  part/  says  he,  cif  I  were  unfortunate 
enough  to  find  myself  in  like  state,  and  be  convinced 
that  the  person  I  loved  granted  favours  to  others,  I 
should  feel  a  contempt  for  her  such  as  would  certainly 
cure  me  of  my  passion.  Moreover,  a  reparation  is  open 
to  you  which  would  be  denied  if  she  were  only  your 
mistress.  The  vengeance  which  commonly  takes  the 
place  of  love  in  an  outraged  heart  can  compensate  you 
for  all  the  vexations  your  wife  causes  you,  since  you  can 
at  once  shut  her  up  in  a  convent,  —  a  method  sure  to 
set  your  mind  at  rest/ 

"  Moliere,  who  had  listened  quietly  to  his  friend,  here 
interrupted  him  to  inquire  whether  he  had  ever  been  in 
love. 

"  '  Yes/  replied  Chapelle,  (  as  much  as  a  man  of  good 
sense  ought  to  be,  but  I  should  never  make  mountains 
out  of  anything  that  my  honour  counselled  me  to  do, 
and  I  blush  to  find  you  so  undecided.* 

"CI  see  clearly/  rejoined  Moliere,  £  that  you  have 
never  really  loved.  You  take  love's  semblance  for  love 
itself.  Although  I  might  give  you  infinite  examples  to 
demonstrate  the  power  of  that  passion,  I  shall  merely 
give  you  a  faithful  account  of  my  own  troubles,  so  that 
you  may  understand  how  little  we  are  masters  of  our- 
selves when  once  love's  dominion  is  assured.  As  for 
the  consummate  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  you  say 
the  portraits  I  am  constantly  presenting  to  the  public 
prove  me  to  possess,  I  acknowledge  that  I  have  en- 


THEATRICAL  AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE     251 

deavoured  to  understand  its  weaknesses ;  but  if  science 
teaches  me  that  danger  should  be  avoided,  experience 
convinces  me  only  too  thoroughly  that  escape  is  impos- 
sible. I  judge  this  daily  from  myself.  My  disposition 
is  by  nature  extremely  affectionate,  and  all  my  efforts 
have  never  enabled  me  to  overcome  an  inclination  toward 
love;  hence  I  sought  to  make  myself  happy,  —  that  is  to 
say,  as  happy  as  a  man  with  a  sensitive  heart  may  be,  — 
and,  convinced  that  few  women  are  deserving  of  sincere 
affection,  that  interest,  ambition,  and  vanity  are  at  the 
root  of  all  their  intrigues,  I  endeavoured  to  insure  my 
happiness  by  the  innocence  of  my  choice.  I  took  my 
wife,  so  to  speak,  from  the  cradle,  and  educated  her  with 
the  care  which  has  given  rise  to  rumours  which  have 
doubtless  reached  your  ears.  I  persuaded  myself  that  I 
could  inspire  her  with  the  habit  of  sentiments  time  alone 
could  destroy,  so  I  neglected  nothing  to  attain  this  end. 
As  she  was  still  young  when  I  married  her,  I  perceived 
none  of  her  evil  propensities,  and  deemed  myself  a  little 
less  unfortunate  than  the  majority  of  those  who  contract 
similar  engagements.  Neither  did  my  eagerness  dimin- 
ish after  marriage  ;  yet  I  found  so  much  indifference  in 
her  that  I  began  to  perceive  all  my  precautions  had  been 
useless,  and  that  the  feelings  she  had  for  me  were  far  in- 
deed from  those  my  happiness  demanded.  Reproaching 
myself  with  a  sensitiveness  which  seemed  ridiculous  in  a 
husband,  I  ascribed  to  her  disposition  that  which  was 
really  due  to  her  want  of  affection  for  me ;  yet  I  had  but 
too  many  opportunities  of  perceiving  my  error,  for  the 
mad  passion  she  contracted  soon  afterward  for  the  Comte 
de  Guiche  occasioned  too  much  commotion  to  leave  me 
even  this  appearance  of  tranquillity.  So  soon  as  I  knew 
the  truth,  finding  it  impossible  to  change  her,  I  spared 


252  MOLIERE 

no  endeavour  to  conquer  myself.  Employing  all  the 
strength  of  mind  I  could  command,  I  summoned  to  my 
aid  everything  that  might  console  me.  Deeming  her  a 
person  whose  sole  merit  had  lain  in  her  innocence,  and 
whose  infidelity  robbed  her  of  all  charm,  I  resolved 
henceforth  to  live  with  her  as  an  honourable  man  whose 
wife  is  a  coquette,  and  who  is  well  persuaded  that, 
whatever  may  be  said,  his  reputation  is  not  affected  by 
the  misconduct  of  his  spouse.  But  I  had  the  mortifica- 
tion to  discover  that  a  woman  without  great  beauty,  who 
owed  what  little  intelligence  she  possessed  to  the  educa- 
tion I  had  given  her  could  in  one  instant  destroy  all 
my  philosophy.  Her  presence  made  me  forget  all  my 
resolutions;  the  first  words  she  said  in  her  defence  left 
me  so  convinced  that  my  suspicions  were  ill  founded  that 
I  asked  her  pardon  for  having  been  so  credulous. 

"c  However,  my  kindness  wrought  no  change  in  her, 
and  in  the  end  I  determined  to  live  with  her  as  if  she 
were  not  my  wife ;  but  if  you  knew  what  I  suffer,  you 
would  pity  me.  My  passion  has  reached  such  a  point 
as  to  cause  me  to  sympathise  with  her ;  and  when  I  realise 
how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  conquer  my  feelings  for 
her,  I  then  tell  myself  that  she  has,  perhaps,  a  like 
difficulty  in  overcoming  her  love  of  coquetry  ;  so  I  find 
myself  more  disposed  to  pity  than  to  blame. 

"'No  doubt  you  will  tell  me  one  must  be  a  poet  to 
love  thus ;  yet,  for  my  part,  I  hold  that  there  is  only  one 
kind  of  love,  and  that  those  who  have  not  experienced 
such  tenderness  have  never  truly  loved.  In  my  heart,  all 
things  of  this  world  are  associated  with  her;  and  so  en- 
tirely are  my  thoughts  given  over  to  her  that  when  she 
is  away  nothing  gives  me  pleasure.  When  I  behold  her, 
transports  of  emotion  which  can  be  felt  but  not  described, 


THEATRICAL   AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE     253 

deprive  me  of  all  power  of  reason,  and  no  longer  having 
eyes  for  her  faults,  I  see  only  her  lovable  qualities.  Is 
not  this  the  last  extremity  of  folly,  and  do  you  not  marvel 
that  all  my  reason  serves  only  to  make  me  aware  of  my 
weakness  without  giving  me  the  strength  to  master  it?" 

As  a  touching  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the 
human  heart,  this  scene  is  worthy  of  a  laurel  crown ;  yet 
its  author  was  the  most  vile  and  cowardly  of  all  Moliere's 
traducers.  The  facts  regarding  the  three  lovers  attrib- 
uted to  Armande  Bejart  are  manifestly  wrong;  therefore 
undue  credence  should  not  be  given  to  the  charges  of 
infidelity  brought  against  either  Moliere  or  his  wife. 
True,  the  morality  of  theatrical  people  in  an  age  of  li- 
cense is  not  an  easy  cause  to  defend ;  yet  in  judging 
Moliere  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  he  lay  particu- 
larly open  to  the  attacks  of  jealous  rivals. 

In  his  plays  he  evinces  far  more  delicacy  in  situation 
and  choice  of  language  than  Shakespeare  in  his  ;  while 
for  the  most  part  their  tone  is  so  moral,  their  point  of 
view  so  commendable,  that  to  accept  the  unrefuted  charges 
of  a  cowardly  slanderer  regarding  the  author's  character 
is  to  impute  to  him  both  hypocrisy  and  baseness,  —  a 
thing  scarcely  believable  in  the  author  of  The  Hypocrite 
and  I'be  Misanthrope.  Indeed,  when  judged  by  his  com- 
edies, Moliere  stands  forth  a  valiant  defender  of  virtue  in 
a  dissolute  reign,  a  sane  philosopher  in  an  age  of  cant. 

Anchorites  do  not  dwell  in  theatres,  it  is  true,  yet 
there  is  not  a  particle  of  documentary  evidence  extant  to 
prove  that  his  relations  with  Mile,  de  Brie  were  more 
than  those  of  an  old  and  sympathetic  companion,  or  that 
Armande  Bejart  was  other  than  a  vain,  heartless,  flighty 
coquette  such  as  her  husband  painted  in  Celimene,  the 
heroine  of  The  Misanthrope,  the  play  now  to  be  considered. 


MOLIERE 


XIV 
THE   MISANTHROPE 

IN  the  midst  of  his  domestic  troubles  Moliere  wrote 
Love  as  a  Doctor  (U  Amour  medecin), —  a  piece  of  buoy- 
ant mirth,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  heaviness  of  his 
heart.  In  this  comedy  Sganarelle,  no  longer  Don  Juan's 
cringing  servant,  reappears  in  his  more  familiar  guise  of 
a  well  fed  and  well-to-do  bourgeois,  vain,  narrow  minded, 
superstitious,  yet  honest  withal ;  in  other  words,  an 
epitome  of  the  law  and  order  backbone  of  the  French 
body  politic. 

This  three-act  farce  in  prose  is  a  pleasing  trifle,  "  far 
better  comedy/'  asToltaire  truly  says,  "  \h2Q..£he- Forced 
Marriage"  though,  like  it,  written  to  divert  the  young 
monarch.  To  quote  Moliere's  preface :  "  It  is  but  a 
simple  pencil  sketch,  a  little  impromptu,  which  the  King 
wished  to  amuse  him,  —  the  most  precipitate,  however, 
of  all  his  Majesty  has  commanded  of  me ;  for  when 
I  say  it  was  suggested,  written,  learned,  and  produced 
within  five  days,  I  shall  tell  only  the  truth."  With 
ballet  interludes  danced  to  Lully's  measures,  Love  as  a 
Doctor  was  first  performed  at  Versailles,  probably  on 
September  fourteenth,  I665.1  Possibly  the  King  took 
part  himself  as  one  of  the  Joys,  Laughters,  or  Pleasures. 

1  La  Grange  and  Vinot  in  the  edition  of  1682  give  September  fifteenth 
as  the  date  of  production.  MM.  Monval  and  Mesnard  both  incline  to 
September  fourteenth  as  the  probable  date.  The  latter  (  (Euvres  de  Mo- 
liere) discusses  this  point  at  length. 


THE   MISANTHROPE  255 

The  plot  is  simple  yet  diverting.  Sganarelle's  daughter 
falling  ill,  five  physicians  called  in  consultation  fail  to 
diagnose  her  mysterious  malady  as  love ;  whereupon 
Clitandre,  her  lover,  disguised  in  medical  robes,  pre- 
scribes matrimony,  and  induces  Sganarelle  to  sign  the 
contract  by  telling  him  that  his  daughter  is  temporarily 
demented,  and  that  the  document  is  but  a  prescription  to 
humour  her. 

A  play  written  and  produced  in  five  days  should  be 
judged  as  dramaturgy  rather  than  as  literature ;  for,  as 
Moliere  himself  says,  "  comedies  are  written  only  to  be 
played."  From  this  point  of  view  Love  as  a  Doctor  is 
certainly  praiseworthy,  for  it  moves  consistently  and 
rapidly  to  an  amusing  climax,  and  is  replete  in  clever 
characterisation ;  still,  its  chief  interest  lies  not  in  its 
smart  intrigue,  nor  in  the  likelihood  that  certain  scenes 
were  inspired  by  Tirso  de  Molina  and  Cyrano  de  Berge- 
rac.  Above  all  else,  it  is  distinguished  as  being  Moliere's 

Hprlarafinn   nf  wpr  fg^"°*   ™rf)jrffll    "mpjlj™0™ ,  *    COn- 

test  wTiTch  will  form  the  topic  of  the  ensuing  chapter. 
Although  its  mirth  was  sprightly  and  gay,  Sganarelle's 
opening  speech  touches  the  note  of  melancholy  which 
found  symphonic  expression  in  The  Misanthrope : 

Ah,  what  a  strange  thing  life  is !  and  well  may  I  say 
with  a  great  philosopher  of  antiquity  that  he  who  has 
land  has  war ;  for  misfortunes  never  come  singly  !  I  had 
but  one  wife  and  she  is  dead. 

When  next  Moliere's  pen  touched  paper,  he  painted 
the  portrait  of  a  wife  who  was  dead  to  him,  and  sang  the 
misery  of  his  own  soul  in  a  way  so  masterful  that  The 
Misantkrofe  stands  unrivalled  as  the  greatest  of  French 
comedies  ;  for  even  The  Hypocrite^  superior  from  a  purely 


256  MOLIERE 

theatric  point  of  view,  must  give  place  to  its  marvellous 
character  analysis,  its  profound  philosophy  of  life.  To 
tell  the  anguish  of  a  wounded  soul  betrayed  by  heart- 
lessness  and  falsehood  into  that  most  fatal  of  passions, 
the  hatred  of  mankind,  language  has  no  stronger  term 
than  the  one  Moliere  chose  to  typify  his  greatest  comedy. 
The  very  word  "  misanthrope  "  conjures  to  the  mind  a 
dismal  picture  of  outraged  sentiment  and  embittered 
confidence. 

In  Moliere's  hero  a  loss  of  faith  in  mankind  as  a 
whole  has  followed  a  loss  of  faith  in  the  woman  he 
adores ;  for  Alceste's  misanthropy  is,  after  all,  only  a 
splenetic  fancy  that  all  men  are  deceitful  because  his 
mistress  is  so,  —  a  lover's  misogyny,  in  other  words,  if 
this  be  not  a  contradiction  of  terms. 

Celimene,  the  unworthy  object  of  Alceste's  affections, 
is,  perhaps,  the  most  perfect  picture  of  feminine  coquetry 
in  the  realm  of  literature.  Vain,  flighty,  intoxicated  by 
love  of  admiration  and  tainted  by  the  scented  air  of 
drawing-rooms,  she  is  best  described  by  the  modern  word 
"  flirt," —  a  term  aptly  derived  from  a  Bavarian  expression 
meaning  "  to  flutter."  Her  character  can  be  no  better 
painted  than  in  the  words  of  Gustave  Larroumet:1 

Celimene  is  twenty  years  of  age,  and  her  experience 
is  that  of  a  woman  of  forty.  Coquettish  and  feline  with 
Alceste,  frivolous  and  backbiting  with  the  little  mar- 
quesses, cruelly  ironical  with  Arsinoe,  in  each  act,  in  each 
scene,  she  shows  herself  under  a  different  aspect.  A 
contemporary,  or  one  nearly  so,  of  Mesdames  de 
Chatillon,  de  Luynes,  de  Monaco,  de  Soubise,  and  the 
nieces  of  Mazarin,  she  ought  to  awaken,  as  a  vague 
memory,  these  great  names ;  she  is  the  exquisite  and  rare 

1  La  Comedie  de  Moliere. 


THE    MISANTHROPE  257 

product  of  an  aristocratic  civilisation  in  the  full  splen- 
dour of  its  development,  and  often  she  speaks  a  lan- 
guage of  almost  plebeian  candour  and  freshness. 

Besides  the  hero  and  this  frivolous  young  heroine,  the 
chief  characters  in  the  play  are  Alceste's  friend,  Philinte, 
a  social  opportunist ;  Eliante,  a  sensible  emblem  of 
womanly  worth ;  Arsinoe,  a  mischief-making  prude, 
who  in  English  would  be  denominated  Mrs.  Grundy  ; 
Oronte,  a  dilettante  poet,  and  Acaste  and  Clitandre,  two 
court  dandies  of  emasculated  wit,  about  whom  the  reader 
might  well  exclaim,  as  did  the  character  in  ^he  Versailles 
Impromptu,  "  What,  marquesses  again  ! " 

The  play  is  in  the  conventional  five  acts,  the  scene  being 
Celimene's  drawing-room.  The  first  is  devoted  entirely 
to  the  elucidation  of  Alceste's  character,  and  the  develop- 
ment of  the  single  dramatic  fact  that  he  is  in  love  with 
Celimene,  the  absolute  opposite  of  his  lofty  ideals.  An 
Alexandre  Dumas  fils  or  a  Sardou  would  "  blue  pencil " 
this  to  about  six  speeches ;  yet  Henri  Becque,  from 
whom  the  best  French  dramatists  of  to-day,  such  as  Paul 
Hervieu  and  Maurice  Donnay,  receive  their  inspiration, 
derived  his  technic  from  profound  studies  of  Moliere's 
character  comedy. 

Complications,  catastrophe,  and  denouement  should 
be  subordinate  to  atmosphere  and  character  drawing  ;  the 
analysis  of  events  must  give  place  to  the  analysis  of 
persons,  these  modern  Frenchmen  maintain  —  likewise 
Ibsen,  Strindberg,  Hauptmann,  Sudermann,  and  Eche- 
garay.  These  are  not  new  principles,  however ;  Moliere 
taught  them  three  centuries  ago.  Indeed,  the  closer  a 
writer  of  plays  studies  the  great  Frenchman,  the  less 
likely  is  he  to  fall  into  the  purely  theatric  rut  of  situa- 

17 


258  MOLIERE 

tion,  as  distinguished  from  the  loftier  dramatic  ideals  of 
atmosphere  and  characterisation. 

cc  Leave  me,  I  tell  you,  and  get  out  of  my  sight !  " 
Moliere's  hater  of  mankind  exclaims  in  the  discursive 
opening  scene  with  his  rational  friend  Philinte.  His 
anger  is  righteous  indignation  toward  a  man  who,  he 
says,  "ought  to  die  from  very  shame  for  almost  stifling 
with  caresses,  protestations,  and  vows  of  friendship  one 
whose  name  he  can  scarcely  remember."  Philinte's 
defence  is  that  "when  a  man  embraces  you  warmly,  you 
must  repay  him  in  his  own  coin,"  —  a  worldly  doctrine 
that  calls  forth  the  following  outburst  from  the  enraged 
Alceste : 

Nay,  I  cannot  suffer  such  coward  ways 

As  nearly  all  your  worldly  men  affect ; 

Nor  hate  I  aught  so  much  as  the  contortions 

Which  great  asseverators  use  —  those  far 

Too  cordial  givers  of  unmeaning  love, 

Too  courteous  utterers  of  empty  words, 

Who  in  smooth  manners  vie,  treating  true  worth 

And  any  fopling  with  an  equal  grace. 

To  what  good  end  if,  swearing  admiration, 

Tenderness  and  trust,  friendship,  zeal,  and  faith, 

A  man  shall  laud  you  to  the  skies,  then  rush 

Into  the  arms  of  any  common  wretch 

He  meets  by  chance,  to  do  as  much  ?     No,  no  ! 

A  heart  endowed  with  self-respect  can  ne'er 

Endure  such  prostituted  reverence  ; 

The  vainest,  even,  finds  but  little  cheer 

In  mere  confusion  with  the  universe. 

Esteem  on  some  true  preference  is  based ; 

Thus  in  esteeming  all,  no  man  's  esteemed. 

Since  to  the  vices  of  the  day  you  're  pledged, 

You  are,  in  Heaven's  name,  not  of  my  clan. 

An  indiscriminating  heart's  regard 

I  scorn  —  myself  must  needs  be  prized ;  in  brief, 

The  friend  of  all  mankind  's  no  man  for  me. 


THE   MISANTHROPE  259 

Thus  Alceste  is  painted  in  a  few  bitter  strokes,  —  a 
blunt  despiser  of  untruth  seeking  to  rectify  the  vices  of 
the  world  by  the  force  of  his  own  word  and  example  :  the 
type  of  man  who  in  England  writes  to  the  Times y  and  in 
America  presides  at  reform  meetings ;  a  man  at  once  too 
virtuous  to  accept  the  laisser  faire  tenets  of  his  practical 
friend  Philinte,  and  too  self-sufficient  to  forgive  mankind 
for  its  failure  to  accept  his  honest  views. 

"The  world  will  not  alter  for  all  your  meddling," 
Philinte  tells  this  reformer ;  "  all  these  invectives  against 
the  manners  of  the  age  make  you  a  laughing  stock ! " 
"  So  much  the  better,"  Alceste  replies ;  "  all  men  are  so 
odious  to  me  that  I  should  be  sorry  to  appear  rational  in 
their  eyes."  "  Shall  all  poor  mortals,  without  exception, 
be  included  in  this  aversion  ?  "  Philinte  asks.  Alceste's 
answer  sets  forth  his  misanthropy : 

No,  my  distaste  is  catholic  ;  I  hate 

All  men  :  malevolence  and  wickedness 

In  some ;  the  rest  for  paltering  with  these, 

Lacking  the  lusty  hate  vice  should  inspire 

In  every  upright  heart.  .  .  .  Upon  my  faith, 

It  wounds  me  mortally  to  see  how  vice 

Is  spared  ;  unto  a  silent  desert,  far 

From  man's  approach,  I  *m  tempted  oft  to  flee. 

In  an  untranslated  portion  of  this  speech  the  personal 
equation  of  Alceste's  hatred  for  society  is  made  appar- 
ent. "  You  see  how  unjustly  and  excessively  complacent 
people  are  to  that  barefaced  scoundrel  with  whom  I  am 
at  law,"  he  exclaims.  In  other  words,  having  been  out- 
witted by  "a  low  bred  fellow  who  deserves  to  be  pilloried," 
Alceste  has  a  personal  grievance  against  the  world.  After 
all,  is  not  all  hate  of  a  human  creature  for  his  kind  just 
such  embittered  egotism  as  this  ? 


260  MOLIERE 

Alceste's  even  tempered  friend,  tactful  man  of  the 
world  that  he  is,  answers  his  splenetic  outcry  in  the 
following  sane  manner: 

About  the  manners  of  the  time,  egad, 

Let 's  bother  less,  and  more  compassion  show 

To  human  nature,  judging  it  with  less 

Asperity,  viewing  with  charity 

Its  faults  ;  for  in  society  we  need 

A  pliant  virtue,  being  often  blamed 

For  knowledge  far  too  great.     Sane  minds  forsake 

Extremes  for  wisdom  and  sobriety. 

The  rigid  virtues  of  the  ancient  times 

Too  far  offend  the  manners  of  our  day, 

Demand  an  excellence  too  great  for  man. 

Seeking  to  rectify  the  faults  of  this 

Poor  world  is  second  to  no  other  folly ; 

Hence  graciously  to  custom  we  should  bow. 

Instead  of  profiting  by  this  worldly  wisdom,  Alceste, 
harking  back  to  his  lawsuit,  asserts  that  he  will  see 
whether  "  men  have  sufficient  impudence,  and  are  wicked, 
villainous,  and  perverse  enough,  to  do  him  injustice  in 
the  face  of  the  whole  world  " ;  whereupon  Philinte,  at- 
tacking him  suddenly  in  his  most  vulnerable  part,  thus 
forces  from  his  lips  the  true  secret  of  his  misanthropy  : 

PHILINTE 

Think  you  this  virtue  you  demand  of  all, 
This  worth  wherein  you  hide  yourself,  prevails 
In  her  you  love  ?     At  war  with  all  mankind, 
I  am  astonished  that  you  find  in  spite 
Of  all  that  makes  man  odious,  the  charms 
To  soothe  your  eyes ;  and  I  confess  the  choice 
Your  heart  has  made  astounds  me  more.     Eliante 
The  true  admires,  Arsinoe  the  prude 
With  tenderness  regards  you  ;  yet  your  heart 
Is  cold  to  both ;  the  meanwhile  Celimene, 


THE   MISANTHROPE  261 

Whose  coquetry  and  humour  mischievous 
Accord  so  well  with  our  more  modern  ways, 
In  durance  holds  you  with  bewitching  chains. 
Hating  these  things  so  mortally,  how  brook 
You  them  in  one  so  fair;  in  one  so  sweet, 
Are  they  no  longer  faults  ?     Do  you  condone, 
Or  does  it  mean  that  you  are  blind  to  them  ? 

ALCESTE 

Nay,  my  regard  for  this  young  widow  leaves 
My  eyes  still  open  to  her  faults.     For  all 
The  love  she  has  aroused,  I  am  the  first 
To  see  and  to  condemn  ;  yet  spite  of  that, 
My  weakness  I  confess ;  for  do  whate'er 
I  may,  she  has  the  art  of  pleasing  me. 
j  In  vain  I  see  her  faults,  vainly  I  blame ; 
For  notwithstanding  all,  she  makes  me  love. 
Great  is  her  charm,  —  my  love  will  purge  her  soul 
Of  all  the  passing  vices  of  the  time. 

This  frank  confession  goes  far  toward  clearing  Alceste 
from  the  charge  of  being  a  prig.  His  misanthropy  is 
but  the  gall  of  a  noble  nature  betrayed  by  a  woman's 
heartlessness  into  magnifying  its  own  woes  until  they 
become  those  of  humanity.  He  is  a  great  hearted,  gen- 
erous soul  who  loves  the  domestic  virtues,  —  and  falls  in 
love  with  a  coquette.  Had  she  been  a  housewife,  philan- 
thropy, not  misanthropy,  would  have  been  his  passion. 
When  he  rails  against  the  insincerity  of  the  world,  it  is 
a  woman's  insincerity  he  means  ;  thus,  when  Philinte 
tells  him  that  Celimene's  "  steadfast  and  sincere  "  cousin 
Eliante  would  make  him  a  far  better  wife  than  his  chosen 
mistress,  he  exclaims  in  all  asperity : 

'T  is  true  my  reason  tells  me  so  each  day ; 
Yet  reason  *s  not  the  power  to  govern  love. 

This  deeply  human  passion  for  an  incorrigible  flirt 
saves  Alceste  from  being  a  wretched  Timon.  His  brav- 


262  MOLIERE 

ery,  too,  commands  respect.  To  tell  the  world  it  is  base 
demands  a  certain  hardihood  ;  but  to  tell  a  poet  his 
verses  are  bad  requires  genuine  courage. 

This  latter  comes  to  pass  when  the  conversation  be- 
tween the  misanthrope  and  his  tranquil  friend  is  inter- 
rupted by  Oronte,  a  fashionable  poetaster  with  a  sonnet 
he  wishes  to  read  to  Alceste  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  if 
it  is  good  enough  for  publication.  "  I  have  the  fault  of 
being  a  little  too  sincere,"  he  is  warned.  "  That  is  pre- 
cisely what  I  wish  !  "  cries  the  versifier ;  yet,  being  a  poet, 
praise,  not  sincerity,  is,  of  course,  his  expectation,  —  a  de- 
sire made  apparent  in  his  assertion  that  he  spent  only  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  in  composing  his  verses.  His  sonnet 
might  have  been  written  by  any  of  the  Hotel  de  Ram- 
bouillet  poets,  and  so  cleverly  did  its  sighs  to  Phyllis  imi- 
tate the  precious  poetry  of  the  day  that  Moliere's  first 
auditors  thought  it  decidedly  good,  and  were  astonished 
when  Alceste,  urged  by  Oronte  to  tell  the  truth,  replied 
in  all  sincerity  : 

"  Candidly,  you  had  better  put  it  in  your  closet.  You 
have  been  following  bad  models,  and  your  phrasing  is 
not  at  all  natural.  .  .  .  This  figurative  style  that  present 
writers  are  so  vain  of,  is  beside  all  good  taste  and  truth. 
'T  is  a  mere  trick  of  words,  a  sheer  affectation ;  for  it  is 
not  thus  that  nature  speaks.  The  wretched  taste  of  the 
age  is  what  I  dislike  in  this.  Our  forefathers,  unpolished 
as  they  were,  had  far  better  judgment.  Indeed,  I  value 
all  we  admire  nowadays  much  less  than  an  old  song  I 
shall  repeat  to  you : 

'  If  the  King  had  given  me 

Paris  his  great  town, 
Then  demand  that  I  agree 
On  my  love  to  frown  — 


THE   MISANTHROPE  263 

Thus  King  Henry  I  should  pray : 

"  Keep  Paris  as  of  yore  ; 
I  love  my  darling  more,"  I  'd  say, 

"  I  love  my  darling  more." 

"  This  versification  is  not  rich,"  Alceste  goes  on  to 
say,  "  and  the  style  is  antiquated ;  but  do  you  not  see  it 
is  far  better  than  all  that  affectation  at  which  good  sense 
revolts,  and  that  its  passion  speaks  simply  ? " 

Oronte,  indignant  at  receiving  the  plain  truth  he  had 
invited,  sneers  at  the  judgment  of  his  blunt  critic,  and 
demands  that  he  write  verses  on  the  same  subject  as  a 
sample  of  his  style. 

Alas,  I  might  write  poetry  as  bad, 

But  I  should  never  show  it  to  the  world, 

Alceste  replies,  —  a  piece  of  candour  which  drives  Oronte 
in  peevish  fury  from  the  house. 

In  the  second  act  artful  Celimene  pettishly  receives 
Alceste's  remonstrances  against  her  coquetry,  and  when, 
reproaching  her  for  permitting  so  many  suitors  to  be- 
siege her,  he  threatens  to  break  from  her  thrall  entirely, 
she  craftily  defends  herself  in  the  following  ingenuous 
way: 

For  having  suitors  am  I  culpable  ? 

Can  I  keep  men  from  finding  me  engaging  ? 

And  if  to  see  me  they  take  gentle  means, 

A  bludgeon  must  I  use  to  drive  them  hence  ?    * 

Alceste's  retort  shows  clearly  that  he  reads  the  heart  he 
cannot  sway : 

You  need,  Madame,  a  less  susceptive  heart 
More  than  a  club.      Your  charms,  I  must  concede, 
Go  with  you  everywhere ;  yet  those  your  eyes 
Attract  are  by  your  welcome  held,  and  those 
Who  yield  will  find  its  proffered  sweet  completes 
The  slavery  of  soul  your  charm  began. 


264  MOLlfiRE 

Continuing  in  this  reproachful  vein,  he  asks  how  it  is 
that  Clitandre  has  the  faculty  of  so  pleasing  her.  "  Is  it 
the  long  nail  on  his  little  finger,  his  mass  of  ribbons,  or 
the  width  of  his  canons  ?  "  Then  in  plaintive  suppliancy 

he  asks  : 

And  I,  accused  of  too  great  jealousy, 
What  more  have  I  than  all  the  rest,  I  pray  ? 

"  The  happiness  of  knowing  you  are  loved,"  Celi- 
mene  replies ;  then,  seeking  to  pacify  him  by  the  assur- 
ance that  in  the  future  no  one  shall  deceive  him  but 
himself,  she  calls  forth  this  genuine  outburst  of  passion : 

Zounds,  must  I  love 

You  so  ?     Ah,  if  I  might  retake  my  heart 
From  your  fair  hand,  for  that  rare  boon  I  'd  bless 
The  skies.     To  drive  this  terrible  devotion 
From  out  my  soul,  I  do  my  best,  I  grant ; 
Yet  all  my  greatest  efforts  are  in  vain ; 
Indeed,  *t  is  for  my  sins  I  love  you  thus. 

Alceste  emerges  from  this  scene  a  lover  such  as  all  the 
world  may  love.  His  passion  commands  respect,  while 
his  misanthropy  stands  revealed  as  the  vehemence  of  an 
embittered  heart  sorely  tricked  by  an  inexorable  coquette. 
Meantime  Celimene  tortures  her  victim  with  the  charge 
of  loving  only  for  the  sake  of  quarrelling,  while  her 
drawing-room,  gradually  filling  with  fashionable  friends, 
becomes  a  Vanity  Fair. 

There  is  no  mistaking  the  atmosphere.  It  is  the  per- 
fumed air  of  the  boudoir  in  the  days  when  gallantry  was 
a  fine  art.  With  the  Marquesses  Clitandre  and  Acaste 
as  ready  pupils,  the  fribbling  hostess  becomes  the  mis- 
tress of  as  merciless  a  school  for  scandal  as  ever  graced  a 
drawing-roorn.  Eliante,  too  genuine  to  matriculate,  holds 
aloof;  likewise  Alceste,  till  anger  overflows  his  heart ;  yet 


THE   MISANTHROPE  265 

how  true  are  Celimene's  vignettes  of  fashionable  life  ! 
Take  this  picture  of  a  snob,  for  instance,  drawn  in  answer 
to  Acaste's  query  as  to  the  character  of  their  mutual 
friend,  Gerald: 

Oh,  the  dull  mumblenews ! 
He  never  fails  the  noble's  part  to  play, 
And  in  high  circles  he  is  ever  found. 
He  only  quotes  a  princess,  prince,  or  duke ; 
His  head  by  rank  is  ever  turned ;  his  talk 
Is  horses,  carriages,  or  dogs  ;  while  men 
Of  highest  quality  he  tbees  and  tbous, 
And  mister  is  a  word  beyond  his  ken. 

Thackeray  has  painted  no  truer  picture.  How  many  of 
us,  too,  have  dined  with  the  rich  upstart  depicted  in  the 

following  lines  : 

CLITANDRE 

And  young  Cleon,  whose  hospitality 

The  worthiest  have  accepted  —  what  of  him  ? 

CELIMENE 

His  merit  is  his  cook  ;  his  board  alone 
The  object  of  the  visits  that  we  pay. 

Instigated  by  the  two  silly  marquesses,  portrait  upon 
portrait  is  thus  painted  by  Celimene's  scathing  wit,  until 
honest  Alceste  lashes  her  band  of  scandalmongers  with 
this  whip  of  words  : 

Go  on,  my  courtly  friends,  go  on,  till  each 
Has  had  his  turn,  till  none  is  spared ;  yet  let 
But  one  of  them  appear,  and  you  will  rush 
To  greet  him  hurriedly,  your  hand  extend, 
A  flattering  kiss  bestow,  and  protest  make 
Of  meek  servility  in  vows  profound. 

"  Why  do  you  attack  us  ?  "  Clitandre  asks.     "  If  what 
is  said  wounds  you,  address  your  reproaches  to  the  lady." 


266  MOLIERE 


o,  pardie,  it  concerns  you,"  Alceste  replies,  "  for  your 
approving  smiles  draw  forth  her  slanderous  shafts." 
Thus,  even  in  his  wrath,  Alceste  is  the  lover,  though  he 
accuses  Celimene  of  "  indulging  in  pastimes  he  cannot 
countenance."  Both  Clitandre  and  Acaste  rushing  to 
her  defence  with  flattering  assurances  of  her  perfection, 
the  misanthrope  asserts  that  "  the  more  we  love,  the  less 
we  should  flatter,"  —  a  doctrine  refuted  by  Eliante  in 
the  following  interpolated  remnant  from  the  translation 
of  Lucretius's  poem,  De  Rerum  Natura,  Moliere  made 
when  Chapelle,  Bernier,  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  and  he  were 
students  of  Gassendi  : 

Since  lovers  ever  vaunt  their  choice,  to  brook 

Such  laws  love  's  ill  contrived.     In  loved  ones  Love 

Sees  naught  to  blame  ;  for  imperfections  pass 

As  charms  with  pretty  names  from  lovers'  lips. 

The  pale  one  to  the  whiteness  of  the  jasmine 

Is  compared  ;  she  whose  sombreness  inspires 

A  goodly  fear  becomes  a  sweet  brunette. 

The  lean  is  lithe  and  has  a  comely  shape  ; 

The  fat  's  majestic  with  a  carriage  grand  ; 

The  sloven,  graced  with  little  charm,  is  styled 

A  careless  beauty  ;  e'en  the  giantess 

Appears  a  goddess  to  Love's  eyes.     The  dwarf, 

Epitome  of  miracles  divine 

Is  deemed  ;  the  haughty  one  a  diadem 

Deserves  ;  the  scapegrace  ever  teems  with  wit, 

And  Mistress  Nincompoop  is  wholly  good. 

The  chatterbox  is  dispositioned  well  ; 

If  taciturn,  she  's  modest  and  reserved  : 

For  thus  within  the  one  adored,  each  fault, 

Each  frailty,  the  ardent  suitor  loves. 

A  hint  from  the  marquesses  that  Celimene  excuse  her- 
self to  their  rival  follows  these  lines;  but  Alceste  asserts 
that  "  he  will  never  depart  until  they  have  left."  This 


THE   MISANTHROPE  267 

K 

lover's  threat  is  unfulfilled,  however,  for  Oronte  the  son- 
neteer, offended  by  Alceste's  frank  criticism,  sends  an 
officer  to  summon  him  before  the  mar'echaussee>  —  a  tri- 
bunal having  jurisdiction  in  disputes  between  gentlemen. 
Protesting  that  only  the  King  has  power  to  make  him 
approve  bad  verses,  the  misanthrope  goes,  as  the  cur- 
tain falls,  assuring  Celimene  meanwhile  that  he  will  soon 
return  to  finish  their  argument. 

The  third  act  is  of  so  little  dramatic  consequence  that 
it  might  well  be  coupled  with  its  predecessor.  It  pre- 
sents a  new  character,  however,  in  the  person  of  Arsinoe 
the  prude,  so  deliciously  described  by  Celimene  as  — 

A  humbug,  double-faced ! 
Worldly  of  heart,  successless  she  has  tried 
To  hook  her  fish  ;  so  enviously  she  looks 
Upon  the  suitors  in  another's  train ; 
And  so,  forsaken  in  her  wretched  state, 
Must  rail  against  the  blindness  of  the  age. 
With  veil  of  counterfeited  prudery, 
She  seeks  to  hide  the  solitude  of  home  ; 
To  save  the  credit  of  her  feeble  charms, 
She  brands  as  criminal  the  powers  they  lack. 
Forsooth  a  lover  mightily  would  please 
My  lady  ;  even  now,  methinks,  she  looks 
Upon  Alceste  with  tenderness  heartfelt. 

Visiting  Celimene  with  intent  to  thwart  Alceste's 
passion,  Arsinoe  asserts  a  friend's  right  to  warn  her 
hostess  that  she  should  appear,  as  well  as  be,  above 
reproach,  —  an  effrontery  which  calls  forth  the  following 
retort : 

Madame,  't  is  easy  all  to  blame  or  praise, 
And  each  is  right  according  to  his  age 
Or  taste.     For  coquetry  there  is  a  time, 
And  also  one  for  prudery  :  one  may 


268  MOLIERE 

For  polity  take  to  it  when  the  charms 

Of  youth  are  faded,  —  cruel  ravages 

Of  time  it  often  hides.     I  do  not  say 

I  shall  not  follow  your  example  bright 

In  after  years,  —  age  leads  to  all,  Madame ; 

Yet  twenty  *s  not  the  time  to  play  the  prude. 

The  victor  in  this  feminine  passage  at  arms  leaves  her 
crestfallen  foe  with  Alceste,  who  "  comes  very  oppor- 
tunely/' as  she  says,  "  and  will  better  supply  my  place 
in  entertaining  you."  Playing  upon  the  misanthrope's 
vanity,  Arsinoe  assures  him  that  "  people  of  exceptional 
merit  attract  her,"  and  "  if  some  place  at  court  might 
tempt  him,"  suggests  that  "  a  great  many  engines  may 
be  set  in  motion  by  her  to  serve  him " ;  but  Alceste 
showing  plainly  that  "in  ushering  him  into  the  world 
Heaven  did  not  give  him  a  mind  suited  to  a  court  at- 
mosphere," Arsinoe  is  forced  to  try  venom  instead  of 
flattery.  Arousing  the  misanthrope's  jealousy,  she  tells 
him  that  if  he  will  escort  her  home,  she  will  give  him 
indubitable  proof  of  Celimene's  disloyalty,  adding  that 
"  if  his  eyes  would  only  shine  for  other  eyes,  she  might 
offer  him  consolation,"  —  a  piece  of  feline  hardihood 
which  brings  the  third  act  to  a  close. 

"Alas,"  Alceste  exclaims  in  the  ensuing  act,  "all  is 
ruined !  I  am  betrayed,  I  am  stricken  to  death  !  Celi- 
mene deceives  me,  and  is  faithless,"  —  an  unreasoning 
outburst  prompted  by  a  letter  supposedly  written  by 
Celimene  to  Oronte,  which  Arsinoe  has  given  him.  So 
infuriated  is  Alceste  that  he  lays  his  heart  at  the  feet  of 
Eliante,  to  punish  Celimene,  as  he  says,  "  by  a  transfer 
of  his  sincere  attachment  and  profound  love  to  another." 
Having  just  received  a  proposal  from  Philinte,  prudent 
Eliante  retires  without  declining  either  suitor's  hand, 


THE    MISANTHROPE  269 

thereby  showing  herself  not  altogether  free  from  the  arts 
of  Celimene. 

Alceste's  passion  is,  indeed,  "  a  savage  jealousy  that 
sometimes  savours  nobly."  When  confronted  with  the 
letter,  Celimene,  steeped  in  the  ways  of  coquetry,  ac- 
knowledges it  to  be  hers,  but  hints  that  it  may  have  been 
written  to  a  woman ;  then  refusing  to  confess  the  truth 
or  falsity  of  this,  she  scorns  her  lover's  charges,  telling 
him  "  it  matters  little  to  her  what  he  thinks."  The  way 
in  which  this  incomparable  coquette  holds  her  wretched 
lover  spellbound  is  best  told  in  the  words  of  the  play  : 

ALCESTE,  aside 

O  Heavenly  Power,  can  greater  cruelty 

Be  forged  ?     Was  ever  heart  so  used  ?     I  come 

In  anger  just  to  chide,  and  I,  instead, 

Am  quarrelled  with.      My  anguish,  my  mistrust, 

Are  driven  to  the  uttermost.     She  boasts 

Of  everything,  she  lets  me  credit  all ; 

And  yet  to  break  these  irksome  bonds,  to  arm 

Against  the  thankless  object  of  this  love, 

My  heart  is  still  too  base. 

(To  Celimene.)  Ah,  traitorous  one  ! 

You  know  the  way  to  turn  this  feebleness 
Against  myself;  the  way  to  controvert 
To  your  sole  use  the  riots  of  a  fatal 
Passion,  the  offspring  of  your  treacherous  eyes. 
Defend  yourself  against  this  whelming  crime, 
And  cease  to  feign  disloyalty  to  me. 
Assert  this  letter*  s  innocence,  I  pray, 
If  so  it  can  be  proved,  —  my  love  extends 
A  willing  hand.     Ah,  strive  constant  to  seem. 
And  to  believe  you  so,  I  '11  force  myself. 

CE'LIMENE 

Away  !  your  jealous  transports  drive  you  mad. 
My  love  you  do  not  merit  in  the  least. 


270  MOLIERE 

I  'd  like  to  know  if  any  one  can  make 

Me  sink  for  you  to  base  deceit,  and  should 

My  heart  unto  another  lean,  I  'd  like 

To  know  the  reason  why  I  should  not  tell 

You  candidly.     Does  not,  forsooth,  the  kind 

Assurance  of  my  sentiments  avert 

Your  doubts  from  me  ?     In  face  of  guaranty 

Like  this,  possess  they  any  gravity  ? 

To  lend  them  ear  is  an  affront  to  me ; 

And  since  my  sex's  honour,  enemy 

Of  woman's  love,  to  such  avowal  is 

Opposed  so  strictly,  should  a  faithful  swain 

Who  for  his  sake  has  seen  these  stumbling-blocks 

O'ercome,  mistrust  with  such  impunity 

The  oracle,  and  is  he  not  to  blame 

If  he  should  fail  to  satisfy  himself 

Upon  a  matter  never  told  until 

Great  battles  with  one's  self  are  hazarded  ? 

Away,  away  !    such  doubts  deserve  my  wrath. 

You  merit  not  my  thought.     I  am  a  fool  ; 

And  vexed  I  am  at  my  simplicity 

In  feeling  still  so  graciously  toward  you. 

I  ought  to  place  my  heart  elsewhere  and  give 

You  just  and  ample  cause  to  make  complaint. 

ALCESTK 

Ah,  traitress,  mine  is  strange  infatuation  ! 
Those  tender  words  are  doubtless  meant  to  trick  - 
What  matters  it  ?     To  fate  I  must  submit. 
My  soul  is  wrapt  in  you,  and  I  shall  watch 
Your  heart's  behaviour  to  the  bitter  end, 
Learning  if  to  betray  it 's  black  enough. 

CELIMENE 

No,  no,  you  do  not  love  me  as  one  must 
Be  loved. 

ALCESTE 

Alas  !  to  my  surpassing  love 
Is  nothing  comparable  ;  for  in  the  ardour 
Shown  to  all,  even  to  the  end  it  goes 


THE   MISANTHROPE  271 

Of  forming  'gainst  you  wild  desires.     Ah,  yes, 

I  wish  that  amiable  you  ne'er  were  found  ; 

And  furthermore  that  you  to  some  mean  state 

Would  fall ;  that  Heaven  at  your  birth  did  naught 

Bestow ;  that  you  had  neither  fortune,  rank, 

Nor  lineage,  in  order  that  my  heart, 

By  noble  sacrifice,  your  unjust  lot 

Might  remedy  ;  and  that  I  might,  to-day, 

The  joy  and  glory  have  of  seeing  you 

Accept  your  all  from  Love's  adoring  hand. 

CELIMENE 

A  manner  strange,  indeed,  to  wish  me  well. 

That  you  the  chance  will  have,  may  Heaven  forfend  ! 

Before  Alceste  can  bring  this  wayward  flirt  to  terms, 
his  servant  appears  in  haste  to  tell  him  he  is  threatened 
with  arrest  in  connection  with  his  lawsuit.  As  the  curtain 
falls  upon  his  unquenched  passion,  he  says  to  Celimene : 

It  seems  that  Fate,  whate'er  I  do,  has  sworn 
My  holding  converse  with  you  to  prevent. 
To  triumph  over  her,  permit  my  love 
Again  to  see  you  ere  the  day  has  closed. 

Having  paid  twenty  thousand  francs  to  settle  his  law- 
suit and  been  ordered  by  the  marechauss'ee  to  embrace  his 
enemy  the  sonneteer,  Alceste,  resolved  to  retire  for  ever 
from  this  "  cut-throat  hole  "  of  a  world,  comes  to  learn 
whether  Celimene's  heart  has  any  love  for  him,  and  over- 
hears Oronte  paying  court  to  her;  whereupon  he  con- 
fronts the  guilty  pair  and  demands  that  she  decide,  once 
for  all,  whose  affection  she  prefers.  Thus  brought  to 
bay,  the  flirt  is  temporising,  by  inviting  her  cousin 
Eliante  to  decide  the  merits  of  the  case,  when  Acaste  and 
Clitandre,  each  bearing  a  letter  addressed  by  Celimene 
to  the  other,  burst  upon  the  scene.  These  they  proceed 
to  read  aloud.  In  the  one  Acaste  is  dismissed  as  "  a 


272  MOLIERE 

little  marquess  whose  sole  merit  is  his  cloak  and  sword  "  ; 
in  the  other  Clitandre,  as  "  the  last  man  in  the  world 
whom  she  could  love."  Oronte,  too,  is  dubbed  one 
"  whose  prose  bores  as  much  as  his  poetry " ;  while 
Alceste,  "  the  man  with  the  green  shoulder-knot,  amuses 
sometimes  with  his  bluntness  and  his  surly  grumbling, 
although  there  are  hundreds  of  occasions  when  he  is  the 
greatest  bore  in  the  world."  Her  perfidious  coquetry 
thus  unmasked,  Celimene  stands  defenceless,  as  one  by 
by  one  her  suitors  leave  her  house  in  scorn,  Alceste, 
alone  of  all  the  pack,  remaining. 

Her  pride  is  humbled  at  last.  Yielding  her  coquette's 
sceptre,  she  pleads  for  mercy,  yet  cannot  forswear  the 
flesh-pots  : 

Ciuidkm 

You  may  say  all. 

To  censure  as  you  will,  or  to  complain,  — 
You  have,  indeed,  the  right  ;   for  I  confess 
The  injury,  and  my  bewildered  heart 
With  vain  excuse  ne'er  seeks  to  pay  its  debt. 
The  anger  of  the  others  I  despise  ; 
The  guilt  of  my  offence  toward  you,  I  grant. 
Beyond  all  doubt,  your  indignation  's  just ; 
I  know  how  culpable  I  must  appear ; 
How  all  bespeaks  my  treason.     In  a  word, 
You  have  a  true  and  righteous  cause  to  hate. 
And  I  must  give  you  leave. 

ALCESTE 

How  can  I,  traitress  ? 
And  how  can  I  all  tenderness  subdue  ? 
Even  should  I  wish  most  ardently  to  hate, 
Will  my  own  heart  stand  ready  to  obey  ? 
(To  Eliante  and  Pbilinte.)   You  see  the  path  unworthy  passion 

treads  — 
I  make  you  each  a  witness  to  my  folly  ; 


THE   MISANTHROPE  273 

Yet,  to  confess  the  truth,  this  is  not  all, 

You  '11  see  me  push  it  to  the  bitterest  end, 

And  prove  it  wrong  to  deem  me  wise  ;  for  something 

Of  man  all  hearts  contain. 

(To  Ctlimene.)  Unfaithful  one, 

I  shall  forget  your  crime  ;  and  my  poor  heart 

Shall  find  a  way  to  pardon  your  misdeeds. 

For  with  the  name  of  feebleness  to  which 

The  vices  of  the  time  have  led  your  youth, 

I  '11  cover  all,  provided  your  own  heart 

Will  lend  a  willing  hand  to  the  intent 

I  Jve  formed  of  fleeing  far  from  all  mankind  ; 

And  that  unto  the  desert  where  I've  vowed 

To  live,  you  '11  quickly  follow.      Only  thus 

The  injury  these  notes  have  wrought,  can  you 

In  every  mind  repair ;  for  after  scandal 

Which  noble  hearts  abhor,  'tis  only  thus 

I  may  permit  myself  to  love  you  still. 

CELIMENE 

What !  I  renounce  the  world  before  I  'm  old, 
And  in  your  desert  vast  entomb  myself? 

ALCESTE 

Ah !  if  your  passion  answers  to  my  love, 
What  imports  anything  in  this  poor  world  ? 
Are  not  your  wishes  gratified  by  me  ? 

CELIMENE 

A  heart  of  twenty  is  by  solitude 

Dismayed  ;  and  mine  has  not  sufficient  strength 

Or  grandeur  to  conform  to  such  a  plan. 

If  the  offer  of  my  heart  will  satisfy 

Your  love,  I  might  decide  to  forge  such  bonds ; 

For  marriage  .   .   . 

ALCESTE 

Nay,  my  heart  but  hates  you  now, 
And  this  refusal  has  done  more  than  all. 
Since  all  in  me  you  cannot  find,  in  ties 
18 


274  MOLIfiRE 

Thus  dear,  as  I  find  all  in  you,  go  hence  ! 
Your  offer  I  decline ;  by  this  deep  wrong, 
I  'm  freed  from  your  ignoble  chains  for  ever. 

Consistent  even  in  defeat,  Celimene  retires,  humbled 
but  undismayed,  to  lay  her  coquette's  snare,  as  one  firmly 
believes,  for  some  new  dupe ;  while  Alceste,  witness  of 
the  equable  union  of  Eliante  and  Philinte,  exclaims  to 
these  lovers,  whose  wooing  has  been  as  calm  as  their 
characters : 

To  taste  true  happiness,  this  tenderness 
For  one  another  may  you  guard  for  e'er! 
By  malice  overborne,  upon  all  sides 
Betrayed,  I  leave  this  pit  where  vice  exults, 
To  find  upon  the  earth  some  lonely  place, 
Where  one  is  free  to  be  an  honest  man. 

True  to  his  art,  Moliere  thus  leaves  his  hero  the  vic- 
tim of  his  own  spleen.  As  he  goes  out  to  begin  the 
fulfilment  of  his  vow,  Philinte  follows,  calling  to  Eliante 
to  aid  him  "in  thwarting  the  scheme  his  friend's  heart 
has  proposed."  Indeed,  Alceste  is  far  too  noble  and 
lovable  to  live  eternally  entombed  in  his  desert,  exclaim- 
ing, with  Shakespeare's  Timon : 

"  I  am  Misanthropes,  and  hate  mankind." 

He  might  better  say,  like  Orsino,  "  If  ever  thou  shalt 
love,  in  the  sweet  pangs  of  it  remember  me ;  for  such  as 
I  am,  all  true  lovers  are."  When  happy  and  contented, 
one  may  smile  at  Alceste's  impotent  invectives  against 
the  vices  of  society  and  even  scoff  at  the  sincerity  of  his 
jealous  transports  ;  yet  if  the  world  be  awry,  his  character 
appears  both  sympathetic  and  noble. 

Although  not  presented  until  June  fourth,  1666,  The 
Misanthrope  was  placed  upon  the  stocks  as  early  as 


THE    MISANTHROPE  275 

1664;  and  according  to  Grimarest  it  had  been  read  at 
court  before  it  was  played  at  the  Palais  Royal.  Al- 
though Michelet1  insists  that  neither  the  King  nor  his 
nobility  was  pleased  with  it,  because  "Alceste  scolded 
the  court  more  than  he  did  Celimene,"  seventeenth  cen- 
tury evidence  tends  to  prove  that  it  was  most  appreciated 
by  the  classes  it  satirised,2  —  a  likely  supposition,  since 
at  the  present  day  plays  of  Anglo-Saxon  fashionable  life 
are  best  received  in  London  or  New  York,  where  the 
auditors  are  largely  drawn  from  the  class  capable  of 
recognising  the  truth  of  the  picture  presented  on  the 
stage. 

Tbe  Hypocrite,  dealing  with  a  prevalent  vice,  and  well 
advertised  by  five  years  of  religious  persecution,  played 
to  what  a  modern  manager  would  call  "  capacity  busi- 
ness," whereas  the  receipts  of  The  Misanthrope,  so  es- 
sentially a  comedy  of  manners,  were  considerably  less 
and  its  run  of  shorter  duration ;  yet  to  Boileau,  Moliere 
was,  above  all  else,  "the  author  of  The  Misanthrope," 
while  Racine,  when  told  that  it  had  failed,  replied : 
"  I  don't  believe  it,  because  it  is  impossible  for  Moliere 
to  write  a  bad  play." 

Men  and  women  of  fashion,  convinced  that  here  was 
a  true  picture  of  society,  acclaimed  each  character  a  por- 
trait. Thus  Alceste  was  likened  to  Julie  d'Angennes* 
atrabilious  husband,  the  Due  de  Montausier ;  Clitandre 
and  Acaste  were  found  to  be  the  Comte  de  Guiche  and 
the  Due  de  Saint- Aignan ;  Philinte,  Moliere's  epicurean 
friend  Chapelle ;  and  Celimene,  the  Duchesse  de  Longue- 

1  Histoire  de  France. 

2  De  Subligny,  La  Muse  Dauphine,  June  seventeenth,  1 666  ;   Don- 
neau  de  Vize,  Lettre  ecrite  sur  la  comtdte  du  Misanthrope,  published  as 
an  introduction  to  the  first  edition  of  the  play. 


276  MOLIERE 

ville,  although,  as  M.  Mesnard  points  out,  this  prin- 
cess of  the  blood  royal  must  needs  be  dragged  from  a 
convent  to  become  the  type  of  worldliness.  Moliere's 
misanthrope,  too,  has  been  called  a  symbol  of  Jansen- 
ism,1 his  play  a  noble  plea  for  social  tolerance,  or 
the  hero  merely  an  expression  of  the  author's  art  of 
making  honest  people  laugh,  according  to  each  critic's 
temperament. 

In  the  perennial  riddle  he  presents,  Alceste  resembles 
Hamlet,  and  like  the  melancholy  Dane,  offers  the  actor 
an  enigmatic  role,  demanding  the  highest  histrionism. 
Indeed,  that  most  eminent  of  modern  comedians,  M. 
Constant  Coquelin,  in  a  charming  monograph  upon  the 
subject,  quotes  some  wiseacre  as  saying  that  "  one  of  the 
first  symptoms  of  an  actor's  insanity  is  to  wish  to  play  'The 
Misanthrope" 2  Confessing  that  his  physical  aspect  alone 
has  prevented  his  essaying  the  role,  M.  Coquelin  takes  a 
comedian's  view  of  Alceste,  and,  denying  him  the  at- 
tributes of  a  Hamlet,  Faust,  or  Manfred,  pronounces 
him  a  comedy  character  conceived  by  a  comedian  who, 
"pen  in  hand,  obeyed  his  genius  and  not  his  passions." 

This  leads  to  the  inevitable  discussion  of  the  play's 
subjectiveness ;  for  Alceste,  a  man  of  middle  age  in  love 
with  an  arrant  flirt,  has  often  been  pronounced  an  expres- 
sion of  Moliere's  self.  The  evidence,  of  course,  is  purely 
circumstantial;  yet,  like  that  of  The  School  for  Husbands 
and  The  School  for  IVives^  it  is  too  much  of  a  coincidence 
to  be  disregarded  ;  for  at  the  very  time  when  Moliere 
was  driven  by  the  frivolity  of  his  own  wife  to  part  from 
her,  he  conceived  Alceste,  a  hater  of  mankind  inspired 
by  a  woman's  heartlessness. 

1  V  Enigme  d*  Alceste  by  Gerard  du  Boulan,  1879. 

2  Holier e  et  le  Misanthrope,  1881. 


THE    MISANTHROPE  277 

For  a  comedian  to  see  only  a  comedy  part  in  Alceste 
is  in  the  nature  of  a  professional  judgment ;  yet  to  deny 
this  misanthrope  a  place  in  the  sphere  of  Hamlet  is  to 
deny  his  author  the  attribute  of  profound  philosophy 
and  a  niche  beside  Shakespeare ;  for  though  Moliere 
may  be  inferior  to  our  own  "myriad  minded"  genius 
in  his  imagery  and  in  the  sublimity  of  his  conceptions, 
as  a  creator  he  is,  as  M.  Coquelin  himself  so  happily 
expresses  it,  "  his  equal  in  fecundity,  his  superior  in 
truth."  Moreover,  when  he  most  nearly  depicts  his 
own  suffering,  his  plays  are  most  truly  "  the  applause, 
the  delight,  and  the  wonder  of  the  stage." 

Very  likely,  as  M.  Coquelin  suggests,  "if  Moliere 
is  in  The  Misanthrope,  it  is  far  more  in  the  wise  and 
indulgent  calm  of  Philinte  than  in  the  stubborn,  con- 
tentious puritanism  of  Alceste,"  for  Philinte  represents 
the  clear-sighted  sanity  of  the  writer's  mind.  Alceste's 
love  and  jealousy,  however,  are  the  impassioned  suffer- 
ings of  a  heart  overborne  by  a  coquette's  cruelty  ;  so 
it  is  as  idle  to  deny  his  subjectiveness  as  to  gainsay 
the  objectiveness  of  Celimene,  —  a  role  light  and  vain 
as  Armande  Bejart,  and  written  to  be  played  by  her. 
For  Moliere  to  choose  a  lovers'  quarrel  so  nearly  re- 
sembling his  own,  a  hero  so  like  himself  in  many 
essentials,  and  a  heroine  who  might  readily  pass  as  a 
portrait  of  his  wife,  and  then  fail  to  express  his  own 
wounded  feelings  in  the  verses  spoken  by  Alceste, 
would  be  impossible,  if  he  be  granted  a  heart.  Indeed, 
to  be  immortal,  a  writer  must  be  sincere,  —  a  quality 
demanding  a  breadth  of  feeling  alone  aroused  by  a  per- 
sonal experience  of  life. 

Moliere' s  genius  was  eclectic ;  so  neither  Alceste  nor 
Philinte  is  an  actual  portrait  of  himself.  To  mould  the 


278  MOLlfeRE 

character  of  his  misanthrope,  he  formed  an  imaginative 
alloy,  using  Monsieur  de  Montausier  for  the  spleen,  if 
you  like,  and  Boileau  for  the  literary  acumen,  —  as  this 
critic  has  confessed ;  but  from  his  own  misery  sprang  the 
love  and  jealousy. 


MOLIERE   AND   THE   PHYSICIANS     279 


XV 

MOLlfcRE   AND   THE   PHYSICIANS 

IN  the  untiring  warfare  Moliere  waged  against  the  evils 
of  society,  his  campaign  against  quackery,  if  not  the  most 
brilliant,  was  certainly  the  most  prolonged.  Beginning 
while  he  was  still  a  strolling  player,  it  lasted  until  the 
hour  of  his  death  ;  for,  with  a  fatality  the  medical  men 
considered  righteous  judgment,  he  was  seized  with  his 
last  illness  while  playing  the  title  role  of  'The  Imaginary 
Invalid,  perhaps  the  most  bitter  of  his  satires  against  the 
physicians  of  his  time. 

This  enmity  toward  a  calling  at  once  so  worthy  and 
humane  appears,  at  first  sight,  unreasonable.  Indeed, 
some  knowledge  of  the  French  medical  faculty  of  the 
seventeenth  century  is  necessary  in  order  that  one  may 
sympathise  with  the  biting  satire  of  Love  as  a  Doctor, \ 
The  Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself,  Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac,  \ 
and  'The  Imaginary  Invalid,  the  four  principal  medical  ' 
satires  from  Moliere's  pen.  'The  Flying  Physician  and 
The  Physician  in  Love,  two  canevas  of  his  youth,  the 
latter  of  which  has  been  lost,  had  medicine  as  the  topic 
of  their  ^mmour  as  well ;  therefore  Mbliere's  warfare 
against  *he  medical  %culjy-  may  be  said  to  have  begun 
during  his  "  barn  storming "  days.  Moreover,  he  was 
not  the  only  dramatist  of  that  period  to  make  the  quack 
a  comedy  character ;  for,  at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne, 
Guillot-Gorju,  once  a  medical  student  himself,  acquired 


280  MOLIERE 

his  reputation  as  a  buffoon  in  the  role  of  comic  doctor. 
Certainly  the  charlatan  of  the  Pont  Neuf  selling  balms 
and  opiates  while  acrobats  tumbled  and  clowns  grimaced, 
was  so  little  removed  in  point  of  science  from  the 
licensed  physician  riding  in  cap  and  gown  through  the 
streets  of  Paris  to  bleed,  or  to  administer  an  antimony 
pill,  that  no  writer  of  plays  possessing  a  sense  of  humour 
could  overlook  the  mirth-provoking  possibilities  of  such 
medicine.1 

On  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine,  in  the  heart  of  the  an- 
cient quarter  where  students  in  flowing  gowns  discoursed 
in  Latin  and  pedantic  doctors  in  crimson  robes  upheld 
the  dignity  of  learning,  a  sombre  building  bearing  on  its 
fa9ade  the  inscription  Urbi  et  orbi  salus  stood  amid  a  laby- 
rinth of  tortuous  streets.  For  two  centuries  or  more  this 
dingy  edifice  had  been  the  home  of  the  Faculty  of  Medi- 
cine, youngest  of  the  four  faculties  of  the  University  of 
Paris,  yet  the  most  lucrative  and  by  far  the  most  widely 
known  of  these,  since  to  the  world  at  large  it  was  the 
Faculty. 

Born  in  the  cloisters  of  mediaeval  monasteries,  it  had 
grown,  but  had  not  changed.  It  was  powerful  and  re- 
spected, yet  faithful  to  its  spirit  and  traditions,  —  a  proud, 
independent  body,  teaching  and  exercising  the  liberal  pro- 
fession of  which  it  held  a  monopoly  ;  a  body  so  exclusive 
that  its  members  scarcely  exceeded  a  hundred  in  number, 
or,  to  be  more  explicit,  about  one  physician  to  each  five 
thousand  of  the  inhabitants  of  Paris.  When  they  met 

1  In  depicting  the  medical  faculty  of  Moliere's  day  the  author's  facts 
have  been  gleaned  from  Maurice  Raynaud's  delightful  monograph,  Les 
Medecins  au  temps  de  Moliere,  in  which  both  the  foibles  and  virtues  of 
the  seventeenth  century  physicians  are  treated  with  an  impartiality  most 
praiseworthy  in  a  writer  himself  a  member  of  the  profession. 


MOLI£RE  AND  THE  PHYSICIANS   281 

in  solemn  conclave,  even  these  were  divided  into  two 
classes,  the  Senior  and  Junior  Bench,  —  a  distinction 
made  not  according  to  age  or  ability,  but  to  length  of 
service. 

In  dignity,  however,  if  not  in  common  sense,  the  Fac- 
ulty was  admirable.  Imagine  a  gloomy  amphitheatre 
lighted  by  a  stained  glass  window ;  imagine  a  hundred 
doctors  in  violet  cassocks  and  ermine  trimmed  robes  of 
scarlet  silk  seated  amid  a  throng  of  sable  gowned  stu- 
dents, while  their  dean,  surrounded  by  his  mace  bearers, 
vaunts  in  Ciceronian  periods  the  ancient  glories  of  a  lib- 
eral profession  ;  and  one  will  have  a  fairly  accurate  pict- 
ure of  the  Faculty  in  conclave  assembled,  —  a  pageant 
"inferior,"  as  M.  Raynaud  remarks,  "to  such  an  assem- 
bly of  kings  as  the  Roman  senate,  yet  certainly  not 
lacking  in  solemnity  or  grandeur." 

The  supremacy  of  professional  dignity  over  professional 
skill  is  well  indicated  by  the  oath  a  professor  of  medicine 
took  when  nominated : 

I  swear  and  pronounce  faithfully  to  teach  in  a  long 
gown  with  wide  sleeves,  a  doctoral  cap  upon  my  head,  a 
knot  of  scarlet  ribbon  on  my  shoulder. 

Still,  the  Faculty  was  not  without  its  virtues.  At  a 
moment  when  none  of  the  great  hygienic  institutions 
which  adorn  modern  society  existed,  it  did  its  best  to 
supply  this  want  by  fulfilling  the  functions  of  both  the 
academy  of  medicine  and  the  board  of  health.  However, 
it  wished  progress  to  come  from  within  itself,  not  else- 
where ;  so  surgery  fell  in  sacrifice  to  its  illiberality. 
Thus,  too,  the  circulation  of  the  blood  was  proscribed 
because  it  was  English  ;  antimony,  because  it  came  from 
Montpellier ;  and  quinquina,  because  it  was  American, — 


282  MOLlfeRE 

"three  senseless  and  barren  acts,"  as  M.  Raynaud  says, 
"which  laid  it  open  to  public  ridicule." 

Confined  in  its  investigations  to  the  bodies  of  crimi- 
nals, the  Faculty  was  compelled  to  wait  for  its  anatomical 
subjects  until  an  execution  took  place,  whereupon  the 
criminal  lieutenant  notified  the  dean,  who,  in  turn,  sent 
the  grand  beadle  to  summon  the  doctors  and  students. 
If  at  peace  with  the  surgeons,  they  too  were  invited  ; 
yet,  owing  to  the  dignity  of  science  and  the  indignity  of 
manual  exercise,  the  professor  was  esteemed  a  man  so 
erudite  that  he  must  remain  upon  the  heights  of  learning, 
and  not  descend  to  manipulate  the  scalpel  himself;  hence 
it  often  happened  that  the  modest  preparator  knew  more 
than  the  master. 

That  the  knowledge  of  the  Faculty  was  not  far  from 
quackery  is  attested  by  two  prolonged  and  acrimonious 
disputes  in  which  its  members  indulged.  Does  the  blood 
circulate?  Is  antimony  a  panacea  for  all  pain?  These 
were  problems  about  which  medical  men  wrangled  dur- 
ing the  greater  part  of  the  seventeenth  century ;  while 
in  disputing  the  validity  of  Harvey's  great  discovery, 
such  absurd  arguments  as  the  following  were  used: 
"  If  the  blood  circulates,  it  is  useless  to  bleed,  because  the 
loss  sustained  by  an  organ  will  be  immediately  repaired, 
hence  bleeding  is  useless ;  therefore  the  blood  does  not 
circulate." 

The  cause  of  antimony  —  le  vin  'em'etiquey  as  Moliere 
calls  it  —  was  espoused  by  the  Faculty  of  Montpellier, 
therefore  the  Faculty  of  Paris  regarded  it  with  suspicion. 
"  In  brief,"  to  use  M.  Raynaud's  words,  "  this  contro- 
versy was  at  bottom  the  old  but  ever  new  question  as  to 
what  part  the  accessary  sciences  should  play  in  medicine." 
Lest  the  technical  pedantry  of  this  dispute  grow  tedious, 


H 


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MOLlfiRE   AND   THE   PHYSICIANS     283 

it  may  be  summed  up  in  the  means  of  transportation 
adopted  by  members  of  the  two  schools  of  medicine  when 
visiting  their  patients.  The  doctors  of  the  old  school 
rode  upon  mules,  while  those  who  upheld  the  new 
doctrines  used  horses,  —  an  appropriateness  of  selection 
which  is  apparent. 

To  Moliere's  sane  mind  these  empirical  physicians, 
absorbed  in  interminable  scholastic  wranglings  and  op- 
posed to  everything  in  the  nature  of  progress,  were 
frauds  only  a  little  less  deep  in  dye  than  the  hypocrit- 
ical directors  of  conscience.  His  gauntlet  was  thrown 
to  them  by  Don  Juan,  when  Sganarelle,  disguised  as  a 
medical  man,  prescribes  for  half  a  dozen  peasants,  and 
asks  his  master  whether  it  would  not  be  strange  "if 
those  sick  people  got  well  and  then  came  to  thank  me  ?  " 
The  scoffer  replies  : 

Why  not  ?  why  should  not  you  have  the  same  privi- 
leges as  other  doctors  ?  They  have  no  more  to  do  in 
curing  patients  than  you,  for  their  art  is  pure  humbug. 
What  they  do  is  to  take  credit  when  a  case  turns  out 
well ;  so  you,  as  well  as  they,  may  reap  the  advantage 
that  comes  from  an  invalid's  good  fortune,  and  see  attrib- 
uted to  your  remedies  all  that  may  happen  from  good 
luck  or  the  forces  of  nature. 

When  in  this  same  scene  Don  Juan's  doubts  regard- 
ing the  efficacy  of  drugs  are  rebuked  by  Sganarelle  as 
follows,  the  craze  for  antimony  receives  a  telling  thrust 
from  Moliere's  satirical  rapier  : 

SGANARELLE 

Your  mind  is  wretchedly  distrustful.  You  know  that  antimony 
is  now  making  a  great  stir  in  the  world.  Its  wonders  have  con- 
verted the  most  incredulous  persons,  and  less  than  three  weeks 
ago  I  saw  it  produce  a  marvellous  effect. 


284  MOLIERE 

DON  JUAN 
What  was  that  ? 

SGANARELLE 

A  man  had  been  at  the  point  of  death  for  six  days ;  nobody 
knew  what  to  prescribe,  no  remedy  did  any  good.  At  last  anti- 
mony was  tried. 

DON  JUAN 
He  got  well,  then  ? 

SGANARELLE 
No,  he  died. 

DON  JUAN 

The  effect  was  marvellous,  indeed. 
SGANARELLE 

Of  course  it  was.  He  had  been  dying  for  six  days,  and  the 
antimony  killed  him  at  once.  Could  anything  have  done  it 
better  ? 

But  Moliere  attacked  the  dishonesty  and  pretence  of 
the  doctors  even  more  than  their  ignorance.  Indeed  his 
shafts  were  really  aimed  at  the  Tartuffes  of  medicine ; 
for  in  those  days  charlatanism  was  rife,  and  pedantry  a 
^hield  for  ignorance.  In  academic  robes  and  pointed 
caps  the  doctors  rode  about  Paris  on  their  mules,  im- 
pressing the  populace  with  their  importance,  while  in 
sick-room  consultations  they  imposed  upon  their  victims 
by  concealing  their  ignorance  behind  grandiloquent  Latin 
phrases,  —  a  view  of  the  profession  not  upheld  by  Moli- 
ere alone,  as  this  epigram  of  his  day  witnesses : 

Assume  a  most  pedantic  frown, 

Some  Greek  or  Latin  spout; 
Have  on  a  wig  and  grotesque  gown 

Of  satin  furred  about ; 
For  such  things  almost  make,  we  own, 

A  doctor  out  and  out. 


MOLIERE   AND   THE   PHYSICIANS   285 

In  Love  as  a  Doctor  (V Amour  medecin),  the  play  which 
followed  Don  Juan,  Moliere  entered  the  fray  in  earnest. 
No  longer  ridiculing  medicine  in  the  abstract,  he  made 
the  physicians  themselves  the  object  of  his  satire.  It 
will  be  remembered  that  in  this  play  Sganarelle's  daughter 
falls  ill  of  the  malady  called  love,  whereupon  her  father 
summons  four  doctors  in  consultation,  all  of  whom  fail  to 
diagnose  her  disease.1  The  names  of  these  worthies  are 
Tomes,  Desfonandres,  Macroton,  and  Bahis.  In  this 
connection  Brossette,  speaking  through  Cizeron  Rival, 
editor  of  his  posthumous  papers,2  tells  us  that  "  Moliere 
travestied  the  principal  court  physicians,  MM.  des 
Fougerais,  Esprit,  Guenaut,  and  d'Aquin,  with  masks 
expressly  made  for  the  purpose,  while  Boileau  composed 
suitable  Greek  names  for  them.  Thus,  "to  M.  des 
Fougerais  he  gave  the  name  of  Desfonandres,  which  sig- 
nifies killer  of  men;  to  M.  Esprit,  who  sputters,  that  of 
Bahis,  which  means  yelping,  barking;  while  Macroton 
was  the  name  he  gave  to  M.  Guenaut  because  he  speaks 
slowly ;  and  finally  that  of  Tomes,  denoting  bleeder,  went 
to  M.  d'Aquin,  who  delights  in  bleeding." 

Gui  Patin,3  too,  polemical  medical  man  of  the  day,  and 
possessed  of  a  considerable  sense  of  humour,  wrote  a 
friend,  shortly  after  Love  as  a  Doctor  was  produced,  to  the 
effect  that  a  comedy  against  the  court  physicians  was 
acted  at  Versailles  in  which  the  first  five  doctors  were 
singled  out,  while  three  days  later  he  added  that 
"  U  Amour  malade  (sic)  is  now  being  played  at  the  Hotel 

1  See  Page  255. 

2  Recreations  litter  air  est  1765. 

'  The  originals  of  the  passages  from  Gui  Patin,  quoted  by  M.  Ray- 
naud  and  M.  Mesnard,  occur  in  Lettres  choisies  de  feu  Mr.  Guy  Patin, 
Cologne,  1691. 


286  MOLIERE 

de  Bourgogne,  where  all  Paris  rushes  to  see  the  court 
physicians  on  the  stage,  especially  Esprit  and  Guenaut 
with  masks  expressly  made  for  the  purpose." 

Needless  to  say,  Moliere's  comedy  was  not  played  at 
the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne;  nevertheless  Gui  Patin's  evi- 
dence, coinciding  so  exactly  with  Cizeron  Rival's  assur- 
ance that  "  the  principal  court  physicians  were  travestied 
with  masks,"  has  led  to  considerable  discussion  whether 
or  not  Moliere's  doctors  actually  appeared  a  rAristophane, 
—  a  supposition  dismissed  by  M.  Mesnard1  with  the 
suggestion  that  Patin  wrote  from  hearsay,  while  Cizeron 
Rival  merely  repeated  the  statements. 

To  appreciate  the  satire  of  Love  as  a  Doctor,  no  ar- 
chaeological research  is  necessary,  however,  for  when 
Sganarelle's  servant,  Lisette,  makes  haste  to  tell  her 
master  that  his  daughter  is  dangerously  ill,  that  worthy 
loosens  his  purse  strings  so  far  as  to  indulge  in  the 
expense  of  not  only  one  but  four  doctors,  —  an  extrava- 
gance which  calls  forth  the  following  irony  on  the  part 
of  the  maid : 

Now,  pay  attention  !  You  will  be  highly  instructed  — 
they  will  inform  you  in  Latin  that  your  daughter  is  ill. 

Instead  of  consulting  upon  the  nature  of  the  sick  girl's 
malady,  Sganarelle's  plethora  of  medical  men  argue  upon 
the  relative  excellence  of  mules  and  horses  as  a  profes- 
sional means  of  conveyance,  until  a  new  discussion  is  thus 
incited  by  one  of  their  number : 

TOMES 

By  the  bye,  which  side  do  you  take  in  the  quarrel  between  the 
two  physicians,  Theophrastus  and  Artemius  ?  It  is  a  matter 
which  divides  the  profession. 

1   (Euvres  de  Moliere. 


MOLIERE  AND   THE   PHYSICIANS    287 

DESFONANDRES 
I  am  for  Artemius. 

ToMfes 

So  am  I;  not  that  his  advice  did  not  kill  the  patient,  as  we 
know,  while  that  of  Theophrastus  was  assuredly  better  ;  but  be- 
cause the  latter  was  wrong  in  the  circumstances  in  holding  an 
opinion  opposed  to  his  senior.  What  say  you  ? 

DESFONANDRES 

Certainly.  Professional  etiquette  must  always  be  preserved, 
no  matter  what  happens. 

TOMES 

For  my  part,  I  am  devilish  strict  about  it,  except  among  my 
friends.  When  three  of  us  were  called  in  consultation  the  other 
day  with  an  outside  doctor?  I  stopped  the  whole  proceeding  and 
refused  to  permit  any  one  to  express  an  opinion  until  matters 
were  conducted  according  to  rule.  The  people  of  the  house  did 
all  they  could,  —  the  case  was  pressing,  —  but  I  would  not  give 
way  j  so  the  patient  died  bravely,  while  the  dispute  continued. 

DESFONANDRES 

You  did  quite  right  to  teach  those  people  how  to  behave,  and 
show  them  their  inexperience. 

TOMES 

A  dead  man  is  only  a  dead  man,  and  is  of  no  consequence ; 
but  a  neglected  formality  does  great  harm  to  the  entire  profession. 

In  the  scene  wherein  the  four  doctors  tell  Sganarelle 
the  result  of  their  consultation,  Moliere's  satire  is  even 
more  poignant : 

1  The  "outside  doctor"  with  whom  this  worthy  upholder  of  the  old 
school  of  medicine  was  loath  to  consult  was  doubtless  a  member  of  the 
Faculty  of  Montpellier. 


288  MOLlfiRE 


Sir,  we  have  duly  argued  upon  your  daughter's  complaint,  and 
my  opinion  is  that  it  proceeds  from  the  overheating  of  the  blood  ; 
consequently  I  would  have  her  bled  as  soon  as  possible. 

DESFONANDRES 

And  I  say  that  her  illness  arises  from  a  putrefaction  of  humours 
caused  by  a  too  great  repletion  ;  consequently,  I  would  give  her 
an  emetic. 

TOMES 
I  maintain  that  an  emetic  will  kill  her. 

DESFONANDRES 
And  I,  that  bleeding  will  be  the  death  of  her. 

TOMES 
It  is  like  you  to  set  up  for  a  clever  man  ! 

DESFONANDRES 

Yes,  it  is  like  me;  and  at  least  I  can  cope  with  you  in  all 
branches  of  knowkdge. 

TOMES 
Do  you  recall  the  man  you  killed  a  few  days  ago  ? 

DESFONANDRES 

Do  you  recollect  the  woman  you  sent  to  the  other  world  three 
days  ago  ? 

TOMES  (to  Sganarelle) 
I  have  given  you  my  opinion. 

DESFONANDRES  (to  Sganarelle) 
I  have  told  you  what  I  think. 

TOMES 
If  your  daughter  is  not  bled  directly,  she  is  a  dead  woman. 

[Exit. 


MOLIERE  AND   THE   PHYSICIANS    289 

DESFONANDRES 

If  you  have  her  bled,  she  will  not  be  alive  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
a  fter  wa  rd .  [  Exit . 

The  two  physicians  remaining  arrive  at  the  conclusion 
that  "  it  is  better  to  die  according  to  rule  than  to  recover 
in  violation  of  it,"  whereupon  Sganarelle  exclaims  de- 
jectedly, "  Here  am  I,  even  more  in  the  dark  than 
before.  Deuce  take  it,  I  '11  buy  some  Orvietan,  and 
make  her  swallow  that." 

The  counterpart  of  this  scene  is  found  in  Gui  Patin's 
account  of  a  consultation  held  at  the  time  of  Mazarin's 
death,  whereat  four  famous  court  physicians  failed  to 
agree  upon  the  disease  of  which  the  great  man  was  dying. 
"  Brayer,"  to  quote  Patin,  "  said  the  spleen  was  infected, 
Guenaut  that  it  was  the  liver,  while  Valot  insisted  it  was 
water  on  the  lungs,  and  Des  Fougerais  that  it  was  an 
abscess  in  the  mesentery/'  The  apostle  of  the  liver 
apparently  triumphed,  for  shortly  after  Mazarin's  death 
a  carter,  recognising  Guenaut  in  the  midst  of  a  street 
blockade,  called  out,  "  Let  the  doctor  pass  !  Thanks 
to  him  we  are  rid  of  the  Cardinal." 

No  sooner  had  Love  as  a  Doctor  been  produced  than 
its  author,  borne  down  by  overwork  and  domestic  un- 
happiness,  was  seized  with  an  illness  so  severe  that  he  was 
obliged  to  close  his  theatre  for  a  time  and  subsist  upon 
milk  for  two  months,  —  an  event  affording  him  ample 
opportunity  to  test  the  inefficacy  of  medicine.  His  dis- 
ease, according  to  the  doctors  of  to-day,  was  either  tuber- 
culosis or  an  aneurism,  manifesting  itself  by  a  cough  so 

1  Orvietan  was  a  quack  remedy  named  after  a  famous  charlatan  of 
the  Pont  Neuf. 


290  MOLIERE 

characteristic  that  Boulanger  de  Chalussay  in  his  libellous 
play l  makes  a  character  exclaim,  "  Yes,  it  is  he.  I  just 
recognised  his  cough."  Failing  to  find  relief,  Moliere 
manifested  his  resentment  toward  the  doctors  in  a  way,  to 
quote  M.  Bazin,  "  comparable  to  the  revolt  of  an  incor- 
rigible sinner  against  Heaven."2  Had  he  been  willing 
to  retire  from  the  stage,  his  life  might  have  been  pro- 
longed ;  but  instead  of  seeking  rest,  he  fought  an  incur- 
able disease  with  a  steadfastness  truly  heroic.  He  could 
not  refrain,  however,  from  lashing  the  quacks  who  failed 
to  relieve  his  suffering.  Thus  a  fifth  physician,  by 
name  Filerin,  is  introduced  in  Love  as  a  Doctor,  appar- 
ently for  no  other  purpose  than  to  voice  the  author's 
own  scepticism,  in  a  speech  made  to  Tomes  and 
Desfonandres : 

For  my  part,  I  fail  to  understand  the  bad  policy  of 
some  of  our  people ;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  all 
these  bickerings  have  lately  brought  us  into  an  ill  repute 
so  pronounced  that  if  we  are  not  careful  we  shall  bring 
ruin  upon  ourselves.  I  do  not  speak  for  my  personal 
interest,  for,  thank  Heaven,  I  have  settled  my  own 
affairs.  Whether  it  blows  or  rains  or  hails,  those  who 
are  dead  are  dead,  and  I  have  enough  to  live  upon  with- 
out thinking  of  those  who  are  alive;  but  all  these  squab- 
bles do  the  medical  men  no  good.  Since  Providence 
has  been  so  kind  to  us  for  ages  past  as  to  make  the 
world  infatuated  with  us,  we  should  not  disabuse  man- 
kind with  our  senseless  disputes,  but  should  take  ad- 
vantage of  its  gullibility  as  gently  as  we  can.  .  .  .  The 
greatest  weakness  in  men  is  their  love  of  life,  and  we, 
availing  ourselves  of  this  by  our  ostentatious  nonsense, 
know  how  to  make  the  most  of  the  veneration  the  fear 

1  Elomire  bypocondre. 

2  Notes  bistoriques  sur  la  vie  de  Moliere. 


MOLIERE  AND  THE  PHYSICIANS    291 

of  death  inspires  for  our  profession.  Let  us  therefore 
maintain  for  ourselves  that  degree  of  esteem  which  man's 
weakness  has  given  us,  and  be  united  regarding  our 
patients,  so  that  we  may  attribute  to  ourselves  the  for- 
tunate results  of  an  illness,  and  blame  nature  for  all  the 
blunders  of  our  art. 

In  The  Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself  (Le  Medecin  malgre 
lui\  Moliere  satirised  medicine  with  less  acerbity. 
Having  run  the  gamut  of  middle  class  stupidity  and 
egotism,  vain,  cowardly,  self-interested  Sganarelle  makes 
his  final  appearance  in  the  title  role,  descending  in  this 
instance  several  steps  below  the  social  status  of  even 
Don  Juan's  cringing  servant.  A  sly,  drunken  rogue  of 
the  people,  this  new  Sganarelle,  by  trade  a  woodcutter, 
bears  slight  resemblance  save  in  Rabelaisian  mirth  to  his 
namesakes,  though  he  may  assert  a  certain  kinship  with 
the  imaginary  cuckold.  Having  learned  the  rudiments 
of  Latin  and  a  smattering  of  Aristotle  from  a  famous 
doctor  whom  he  once  served,  he  has  become  a  lazy, 
tippling  lout  who  begins  his  comedy  career  by  practising 
upon  Martine,  his  shrewish  better  half,  the  doctrine  that 
a  wife,  like  a  dog  and  a  walnut  tree,  needs  to  be  beaten 
to  better  be ;  yet  when  a  well-meaning  neighbour  chival- 
rously intervenes  in  behalf  of  the  lady,  both  wife  and 
husband  unite  in  trouncing  him  for  meddling  in  their 
domestic  affairs.1 

Although  Martine  thus  resents  a  stranger's  interfer- 
ence, she  vows  vengeance,  nevertheless,  upon  her  lord 
and  master.  When  the  servants  of  a  wealthy  bourgeois, 
whose  daughter's  sudden  loss  of  speech  has  baffled  his 

1  A  few  months  ago  the  Parisian  press  chronicled  a  similar  occur- 
rence, wherein  a  passer-by,  attempting  to  rescue  a  wife  from  the  blows 
of  her  lord,  was  set  upon  by  both  and  soundly  beaten  for  his  impudence. 


292  MOLlfiRE 

family  physicians,  arrive  in  search  of  a  man  of  science 
capable  of  curing  their  young  mistress,  she  points  out 
her  husband  as  the  one  they  seek,  assuring  them  he  is  a 
"  strange  fellow  who  keeps  his  knowledge  to  himself," 
and  warning  them,  meantime,  that  "  he  will  never  own 
he  is  a  physician  unless  they  each  take  a  stick  and  com- 
pel him  by  dint  of  blows  to  admit  it."  This  drastic 
argument  is  forthwith  applied,  with  the  result  that 
Sganarelle  acknowledges  a  medical  prowess  unsuspected 
theretofore.  His  skill  in  the  use  of  dog  Latin,  however, 
is  insufficient  to  loosen  a  tongue  tied  voluntarily  to  pre- 
vent a  distasteful  marriage  ;  so  the  invalid  he  is  brought 
to  treat  remains  dumb  until  Leandre,  her  lover,  bribes 
this  doctor  in  spite  of  himself  to  introduce  him  into  her 
father's  house  disguised  as  an  apothecary.  Leandre's 
presence  inspires  a  cure  so  marvellous  that  the  father 
prays  Sganarelle  to  make  his  daughter  dumb  once  more. 
"  That  is  impossible,"  the  rogue  replies ;  "  all  I  can  do 
is  to  make  you  deaf." 

Sganarelle's  fame  as  a  doctor  being  now  firmly  estab- 
lished, he  vows  medicine  is  "  the  best  of  all  trades," 
since,  "  whether  we  manage  well  or  ill,  we  are  paid  just 
the  same"  ;  yet  his  good  fortune  is  short-lived,  for  while 
he  is  reaping  the  fruits  of  his  skill  a  servant  informs  the 
master  of  the  house  that  his  daughter  has  eloped  with 
the  pseudo-apothecary.  The  duped  parent  sends  for  a 
magistrate  to  deal  with  Sganarelle,  "  a  villain  he  will 
have  punished  by  the  law,"  whereupon  the  servant, 
whose  plump  wife  Sganarelle  has  been  making  love 
to  in  a  most  suggestive  way,  exclaims  with  undis- 
guised glee,  "  I  am  afraid,  Master  Doctor,  you  will  be 
hanged ! " 

The  noose  is  cheated,  however,  for  the  elopers  return 


MOLIERE  AND  THE  PHYSICIANS    293 

to  beg  forgiveness,  —  a  boon  readily  granted  when 
Sganarelle's  patron  learns  that  his  daughter's  admirer 
has  just  inherited  a  fortune  from  an  uncle.  Meanwhile 
the  worthy  doctor  in  spite  of  himself,  induced  to 
pardon  his  wife  for  the  trick  she  has  played  him, 
warns  her  to  prepare  herself  "  henceforth  to  treat  a 
man  of  his  consequence  with  great  respect,  for  the 
anger  of  a  physician  is  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the 
world  imagines." 

As  a  satire  upon  the  medical  faculty,  this  comedy  is 
less  bitter  than  its  predecessor.  Indeed,  the  irony  is 
conveyed  more  by  implication  than  by  word  of  mouth, 
as  when  the  father  of  Sganarelle's  patient  says  to  that 
rogue  :  "  I  have  no  doubt  your  reasoning  is  most  excel- 
lent, but  there  is  only  one  thing  that  puzzles  me  :  the 
side  (in  the  human  body)  of  the  liver  and  of  the  heart. 
It  seems  to  me  that  you  place  them  wrong,  that  the 
heart  is  on  the  left  side  and  the  liver  on  the  right." 
"  Formerly  it  was  so,"  Sganarelle  replies,  "but  we  have 
changed  all  that  "  (nous  avons  chang'e  tout  cela)y  —  a  phrase 
which  has  become  a  French  proverb.1 

The  source  of  this  comedy  has  been  traced  to  a.  fabliau 
or  metrical  folk  tale  of  the  middle  ages,  in  which  a  peas- 
ant's wife  avenges  conjugal  cruelty  by  assuring  two  ser- 
vants of  the  king  in  search  of  a  doctor  to  heal  their  royal 
master's  daughter,  that  her  husband  is  a  physician  "  who 
will  do  nothing  for  any  one  unless  he  is  well  beaten." 

1  The  inspiration  of  this  scene,  according  to  M.  Mesnard,  was  the 
dissection  of  a  criminal's  body  chronicled  by  The  Gazette,  December 
seventeenth,  1650,  wherein  the  presiding  doctor  demonstrated  that  "  the 
liver  was  on  the  left  side  and  the  spleen  on  the  right,  while  the  heart 
inclined  to  the  right  side,  the  majority  of  the  organs  being  placed  other- 
wise than  is  commonly  the  case." 


294  MOLIERE 

A  play  by  Lope  de  Vega,  too,  bears  a  resemblance  in 
certain  scenes  to  Moliere's  comedy,  while  the  title  of 
one  of  our  poet's  early  canevas,  The  Fagot  Gatherer  (Le 
Fagotier\  indicates  that  the  material  had  already  ap- 
peared, probably  in  one-act  form  ;  but  whatever  its 
source  may  be,  The  Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself  is  a  play 
fulfilling  Moliere's  own  canon  of  dramatic  art  that  "  the 
rule  of  all  rules  is  to  please,"  —  a  fact  well  evidenced  by 
the  popularity  it  has  retained  for  more  than  two  centuries. 
According  to  figures  computed  to  the  year  1870,  it  had 
been  performed  at  the  Comedie  Francaise  more  times 
than  any  of  Moliere's  plays  save  The  Hypocrite?  --a 
verdict  later  statistics  would  doubtless  ratify,  since,  rapid 
in  action,  replete  with  comic  situations  and  droll  char- 
acters, it  possesses  all  the  requisites  of  "  side-splitting  " 
farce,  while  its  characterisation  entitles  it  to  be  dignified 
by  the  name  of  comedy.  Indeed,  in  criticising  Moliere's 
work,  one  is  likely  to  be  led  by  his  marvellous  ability  as 
a  painter  of  human  nature  into  overlooking  the  line  of 
demarcation  between  the  higher  and  lower  forms  of  stage 
humour.  * 

The  Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself  was  placed  upon  the 
stage  of  the  Palais  Royal  August  sixth,  1666,  during 
the  run  of  The  Misanthrope ;  and,  being  presented  in 
conjunction  with  that  masterpiece,  it  aided  its  receipts 
materially,  —  a  fact  which  caused  Voltaire  to  remark  that 
"  The  Misanthrope  is  the  work  of  a  philosopher  who 
wrote  for  enlightened  people,  yet  found  it  necessary  to 
disguise  himself  as  a  farceur  in  order  to  please  the 
multitude."  2 

When   Moliere's    health    had   improved    temporarily, 

1  (Euvres  de  Moliere  by  Eugene  Despois  and  Paul  Mesnard. 

2  Vie  de  Moliere,  avec  des  jugements  sur  ses  outrages. 


MOLIERE   AND   THE    PHYSICIANS     295 

and  his  long  war  against  the  pharisees  had  ended  in 
triumph,  he  so  far  relented  toward  the  medical  men 
as  to  say  in  his  preface  to  The  Hypocrite  that  "  medicine 
is  a  profitable  art  which  every  one  reveres  as  one  of  the 
most  excellent  things  we  possess,"  —  a  leniency  again 
made  apparent  in  a  petition  he  presented  the  King  on 
behalf  of  "  an  honest  doctor  whose  patient  he  had  the 
honour  of  being."  In  this  he  tells  Louis  that  if  he 
will  grant  his  medical  friend  a  sinecure,  he  (Moliere) 
has  been  promised  "  thirty  years  of  life."  "  Dare  I 
demand  this  boon,"  the  poet  asks,  "  the  day  The  Hypo- 
crite is  resuscitated  by  your  kindness?  The  first  of 
these  favours  reconciles  me  with  the  devotees ;  the 
second  would  accomplish  the  same  result  with  the  doc- 
tors." On  another  occasion,  too,  he  betrayed  kindliness, 
at  least,  toward  medicine  in  conversation  with  the  King. 
"  What  does  your  doctor  do  for  you  ?  "  Louis  asked. 
"  Sire,"  Moliere  answered,  "  we  argue  together,  and 
he  prescribes  remedies  I  never  take ;  therefore  I  get 
well." 

Moliere's  health,  however,  did  not  long  permit  his 
heart  to  retain  such  conciliatory  sentiments  toward  medi- 
cine ;  so  when  Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac  was  written  to 
grace  a  royal  fete  held  at  Chambord  during  the  au- 
tumn of  1669,  his  resentment  toward  the  Faculty  again 
manifested  itself.  In  this  three-act  comedy  ballet  in 
prose  the  action  is  developed  solely  by  the  devices  Eraste 
employs  to  prevent  Julie,  whom  he  loves,  from  marry- 
ing Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac,  a  country  lawyer  to 
whom  Oronte,  her  father,  has  promised  her  hand. 
To  further  his  purpose,  Eraste  employs  Sbrigani  and 
Nerine,  a  couple  of  rogues  well  meriting  the  title  of 

intriguers "    given    them    in    the    list    of    characters. 


cc  i. 


296  MOLlfiRE 

When  the  play  opens,  the  arrival  of  Monsieur  de  Pour- 
ceaugnac  in  Paris  is  momentarily  expected.  His  fate 
is  thus  foreshadowed  by  the  speech  of  Nerine  to 
Julie: 

Can  your  father  be  serious  in  thinking  to  force  you  to 
marry  this  Limoges  barrister,  this  Monsieur  de  Pourceau- 
gnac,  whom  he  has  never  seen  in  his  life,  who  is  coming 
to  carry  you  off  under  our  very  noses?  Should  three  or 
four  thousand  crowns  more  suffice  to  make  him  reject  a 
lover  who  is  to  your  mind  ?  and  is  a  young  lady  like 
you  to  be  thrown  away  on  a  Limousin  ?  If  he  wants  to 
marry,  why  does  he  not  choose  a  Limousine,  and  leave 
Christians  alone  ?  .  .  .  We  will  play  him  so  many  tricks, 
and  put  such  rogues  upon  him,  that  we  will  soon  send 
him  back  to  Limoges. 

The  aspersions  here  cast  upon  Limoges  have  been 
attributed  to  a  cold  reception  given  Moliere  when  he 
was  a  strolling  player,  as  well  as  to  the  fact  that  his 
brother-in-law,  Genevieve  Bejart's  husband,  hailed  from 
that  city.  In  any  event,  there  is  little  malice  in  the 
attack,  for  Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac,  the  Limousin,  is 
the  one  sympathetic  character  in  the  comedy.  A  credu- 
lous countryman  with  gawky  manners  wishing  to  pass 
for  a  gentleman,  he  has  at  least  the  merit  of  being 
honest.  The  tricks  whereby  his  life  in  Paris  is  made 
unbearable  follow  each  other  with  whirlwind  rapidity, 
until,  accused  by  Nerine  and  an  accomplice  —  the  one 
simulating  a  Picarde,  the  other  a  Gasconne  —  of  being 
the  long  lost  husband  of  each,  he  disguises  himself 
in  female  attire  to  escape  being  hanged  for  bigamy. 
Being  arrested  by  a  policeman  whose  venal  proclivities 
have  a  decidedly  modern  aspect,  he  buys  his  freedom, 
and  is  glad  to  escape  from  so  malevolent  a  city  as 


MOLIERE  AND   THE   PHYSICIANS  297 

Paris,  even  though  he  returns  alone  to  Limoges,  and 
leaves  his  bride  that  was  to  be  to  wed  a  triumphant 
rival. 

The  most  amusing  pranks  played  upon  this  trustful 
provincial  occur,  however,  in  the  first  act,  when  Eraste 
delivers  him  into  the  hands  of  a  pair  of  doctors  with  the 
assurance  that  he  is  a  maniacal  invalid.  The  charac- 
ter of  one  of  these  medical  men  is  thus  drawn  by  his 
apothecary : 

He  is  a  man  who  knows  his  profession  as  thoroughly 
as  I  know  my  catechism,  and  who,  were  his  patient  to 
die  for  it,  would  not  depart  one  iota  from  the  rules 
prescribed  by  the  ancients.  Yes,  he  always  follows  the 
highroad,  and  doesn't  think  it  mid-day  at  fourteen 
o'clock.  For  all  the  gold  in  the  world  he  would  not 
cure  a  patient  with  other  remedies  than  those  prescribed 
by  the  Faculty.  .  .  .  He  is  not  one  of  those  doctors  who 
prolong  their  patients'  complaints,  but  he  is  expeditious, 
and  despatches  his  "cases"  promptly.  If  you  must  die, 
he  is  the  man  to  help  you  to  do  it  quickly. 

Poor  Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac  is  prescribed  for  by 
this  worthy  as  follows : 

First,  to  cure  this  obdurate  plethora  and  this  luxu- 
riant cacochymy  throughout  the  body,  I  am  of  opinion 
that  he  should  be  liberally  phlebotomised ;  that  is  to 
say,  he  should  be  bled  frequently  and  copiously,  first,  at 
the  basilic  vein,  then  at  the  cephalic  vein,  and,  if  the  dis- 
ease be  obstinate,  the  vein  in  the  forehead  should  be 
opened,  with  an  opening  so  large  that  the  thick  blood 
may  come  out.  At  the  same  time  he  should  be  purged, 
deobstructed,  and  evacuated  by  proper,  suitable  purga- 
tives, that  is,  by  cholagogues,  melanogogues,  et  caetera ; 
for  since  the  real  source  of  all  the  evil  is  either  a  gross 
and  feculent  humour,  or  a  black  and  thick  vapour,  which 
obscures,  infects,  and  contaminates  the  animal  spirits,  it 


298  MOLIERE 

is  proper  that  he  should  afterwards  take  a  bath  of  soft, 
clean  water,  with  plenty  of  whey,  to  purify,  by  the  water, 
the  feculence  of  the  gross  humours,  and  to  clear,  by  the 
whey,  the  blackness  of  this  vapour. 

Should  the  miserable  patient  survive  this  treatment,  a 
second  doctor  was  ready  to  order  "  blood  lettings  and 
purgatives  in  odd  numbers  (numero  deus  impare  gaudet}" 
and  command  a  small  clyster  to  serve  as  a  prelude  "to 
those  judicious  remedies,  from  which,  if  he  is  to  be  cured 
at  all,  he  ought  to  receive  relief."  All  this  was  but  an  ex- 
ordium to  the  ballet  interlude  danced  and  sung  to  Lully's 
measures,  wherein  the  poor  victim  is  pursued  by  a  num- 
ber of  doctors  and  apothecaries,  each  armed  with  a  huge 
syringe:  a  scene  by  far  the  most  suggestive  in  a  comedy 
rather  too  indelicate  for  the  present  day,  though  one  of 
the  sprightliest  Moliere  ever  penned. 

These  continued  attacks  upon  the  Faculty  brought 
forth  a  quasi-defender  of  the  craft  in  Le  Boulanger  de 
Chalussay,  the  title  of  whose  play,  Elomire  hypocondre  ou 
les  Medecins  venges,1  may  be  translated  as  meaning  Moliere, 
the  Imaginary  Invalid.  "  I  believe  I  am  ill,"  says  Elomire, 
a  character  whose  name  is  an  anagram  of  Moliere,  "  and 
he  who  believes  he  is  ill,  is  ill."  After  patronising  the 
charlatans  of  the  Pont  Neuf,  Elomire  finally  falls  into 
the  hands  of  three  doctors  whose  prescriptions  so  terrify 
him  that  he  whispers  to  his  servant,  "  They  make  me  so 
afraid,  I  think  of  dying,"  —  a  remark  which  calls  forth 

1  This  play,  which  was  published  in  1670,  has  already  been  quoted 
in  previous  chapters  for  statements  bearing  upon  Moliere' s  life.  See 
pages  9,  1 6,  19,  86,  and  290.  Although  purporting  to  avenge  the 
doctors,  they  are,  in  reality,  satirised  almost  as  severely  in  thi"s  comedy 
as  in  Moliere's  own  plays. 


MOLIERE   AND    THE    PHYSICIANS     299 

this  timely  advice  :  "  Dream  of  getting  well.     Some  day 
you  can  make  a  comedy  of  your  experiences." 

Indeed,  some  two  years  after  Chalussay's  play  was 
published,  Moliere  wrote  The  Imaginary  Invalid  (Le 
Malade  imaginaire]^  a  comedy  in  which  many  writers  have 
seen  a  travesty  by  the  author  upon  himself.  Moliere 
was  too  ill,  however,  to  paint  himself  as  an  imaginary  in- 
valid, therefore  it  is  more  reasonable  to  see  in  his  play  a 
final  shaft  aimed  at  the  physicians  who  had  proved  so  in- 
capable of  arresting  the  ravages  of  a  disease  soon  destined 
to  prove  fatal.  Argan,  our  poet's  hypochondriac,  there 
exclaims : 

Your  Moliere  is  an  impudent  fellow  with  his  comedies, 
and  I  think  he  might  show  better  taste  than  to  put  such 
honest  men  as  doctors  on  the  stage  ...  If  I  were  one 
of  them,  I  should  be  revenged  for  his  impertinence,  and 
if  ever  he  fell  ill,  I  'd  let  him  die  without  professional 
assistance.  Whatever  he  might  say  or  do,  I  would  not 
order  him  the  smallest  blood  letting.  I  'd  say  to  him, 
"  Die  !  die !  that  will  teach  you,  once  for  all,  not  to  ridi- 
cule the  Faculty." 

These  lines  proved  an  augury.  The  Imaginary  Invalid 
was  produced  on  the  tenth  of  February,  1673,  and  at 
its  fourth  performance  the  author  was  seized  with  haemor- 
rhage while  playing  the  title  role,  and  died  a  few  hours 
later,  —  a  calamity  in  which  the  physicians  saw  a  heavenly 
vengeance  for  the  insults  heaped  upon  them. 

The  principal  character  in  this,  the  last  of  Moliere' s 
medical  satires,  is  Argan,  a  hypochondriac,  whose  obses- 
sion that  he  is  suffering  from  a  complication  of  serious 
maladies  is  humoured  by  Beline,  his  designing  second 
wife,  with  the  hope  that  physic  will  eventually  make  her 
husband's  worldly  goods  her  heritage.  The  action  turns 


300  MOLIERE 

upon  the  efforts  of  Cleante,  an  enterprising  lover,  to 
frustrate  Argan's  intention  of  marrying  his  daughter 
Angelique  to  a  physician's  son,  in  which  purpose  the 
young  man  is  aided  and  abetted  by  a  maid-of-all-work 
named  Toinette,  —  by  far  the  most  pert  and  quick-witted 
of  the  author's  many  captivating  soubrettes. 

In  the  opening  scene  the  hypochondriac  is  discovered 
checking  his  apothecary's  accounts,  and  after  we  have 
listened  to  an  enumeration  of  the  doses  of  catholicon, 
rhubarb,  cassia,  and  senna  to  which  the  poor  man  has 
been  subjected,  the  wonder  is  that  he  is  still  alive.  His 
chief  concern,  however,  lies  in  the  discovery  that  he  is 
not  so  well  as  formerly,  because  he  has  not  consumed  as 
much  medicine  as  during  the  previous  month, — an  over- 
sight MjQjosi£ii£_Purgpn,  his  physician,  must  remedy. 

From  Toinette  this  imaginary  invalid  learns  he  is  "  the 
milch  cow  "  of  his  doctor  and  apothecary ;  and  when  he 
informs  his  daughter  Angelique  that  she  is  to  be  given 
in  marriage  to  a  doctoral  son  of  a  doctor,  the  maid's 
impudent  tongue  wags  freely.  "  What ! "  she  says, 
"  with  all  your  wealth  would  you  marry  your  daughter 
to  a  doctor?"  "I  want  a  medical  son-in-law,"  Argan 
replies,  "so  that  I  may  have  in  my  own  household  the 
source  of  all  the  necessary  remedies,  consultations,  and 
prescriptions,"  —  a  design  his  entire  family,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  his  wife,  conspires  to  frustrate.  Angelique's 
admirer,  Cleante,  is  smuggled  into  the  house  disguised 
as^a  musicteacker  to  make  love  under  Argan's  very 
nose,  but  is  unmasked  through  the  naive  disclosures  of 
the  latter's  little  daughter,  Louispn,  whereupon  Toinette 
comes  to  the  rescue.  Disguised  as  a  physician,  she  in- 
gratiates herself  into  her  master's  good  graces  by  pre- 
scribing new  remedies,  and  proposes  that  he  shall  feign 


MOLIERE  AND   THE   PHYSICIANS     301 

death  in  order  to  discover  the  true  feelings  of  his  family, 
—  a  ruse  conceived  for  .the  purpose  of  exposing  Beline, 
a  sort  oJJemjal^JCartiiffe,  who  has  been  abetting  her  hus- 
band's folly  with  a  view  to  robbing  him.  When  this 
hypocrite  appears,  being  told  that  her  husband  has  just 
expired,  she  exclaims  : 

Heaven  be  praised !  now  I  am  delivered  of  a  great 
load  .  .  .  what  use  was  he  when  on  earth  ?  A  man 
burdensome  to  all  around,  —  a  dirty,  disgusting  crea- 
ture, ever  blowing  his  nose,  coughing,  or  spitting. 

Before  she  can  carry  out  her  base  purpose  of  seizing 
his  papers  and  money,  the  supposed  dead  man  springs 
to  his  feet,  —  a  resurrection  which  causes  the  false  wife  to 
flee  in  terror  from  the  house.  When  the  same  stratagem  is 
used  upon  Angelique,  Argan  learns  the  difference  between 
real  and  assumed  affection.  Hearing  his  grief-stricken 
daughter  swear  compliance  with  his  last  wishes  regarding 
her  marriage,  the  overjoyed  hypochondriac  consents  to 
her  union  with  Cleante  on  condition  that  he  become  a 
physician,  —  a  proviso  modified  by  his  brother  Beralde's 
suggestion  that  Argan  himself  take  up  that  profession. 

A  ballet  interlude  in  the  shape  of  a  mock  ceremony 
whereby  Argan  is  given  his  degree  by  a  band  of  pseudo- 
physicians,  surgeons,  and  apothecaries  concludes  the 
play,  —  a  whimsical  bit  of  humour,  which,  in  the  words 
of  M.  Raynaud,  "must  be  considered  not  only  as  an 
abridgment  of  doctoral  ceremonies,  but  of  all  those 
through  which  a  candidate  passes  from  the  commence- 
ment of  his  studies  until  the  day  when  he  receives  the 
doctor's  cap." 

This  famous  scene  was  devised,  according  to  the 
same  authority,  in  Mme.  de  la  Sabliere's  salon  after  a 


302  MOLIERE 

bohemian  supper  at  which  Boileau,  La  Fontaine,  and 
Ninon  de  Lenclos  were  present,  Boileau  providing  the 
macaronic  Latin,  and  "  two  or  three  more  or  less  scepti- 
cal doctors  of  Moliere's  set "  the  technical  expressions. 
However,  to  quote  M.  Mesnard,  "  one  cannot  believe 
in  the  preciseness  of  the  terms  in  which  this  story  is 
told,"  since  Monchesnay,1  the  authority  from  whom  it 
is  derived,  places  the  scene  in  the  salon  of  Ninon  de 
Lenclos. 

The  Imaginary  Invalid  fairly  bristles  with  satire  aimed 
at  the  Faculty.  For  instance,  when  Argan  asserts  that 
Monsieur  Purgon,  his  doctor,  has  an  "  income  of  eight 
thousand  good  livres,"  Toinette  exclaims  that  "  he  must 
have  killed  a  great  many  men  to  be  as  rich  as  that." 
Again,  in  a  scene  wherein  Dr.  Diafoirus  comes  to  intro- 
duce his  son  Thomas  to  Angelique,  his  intended  bride, 
the  illiberality  of  the  Faculty  receives  many  a  telling 
thrust.  "  What  pleases  me  most  in  him,"  the  elder 
Diafoirus  exclaims  regarding  his  son's  talents,  "  is  that 
he  follows  my  example  by  blindly  accepting  the  opinions 
of  the  ancients  without  seeking  to  understand  or  listen 
to  reason  and  experience  regarding  the  pretended  discov- 
eries of  our  century  in  respect  to  the  circulation  of  the 
blood  and  other  opinions  of  a  like  nature."  The  elder 
Diafoirus,  too,  exposes  the  chicanery  of  his  craft  when 
he  exclaims  that  "it  is  easy  to  deal  with  the  populace 
because  you  are  responsible  for  your  actions  to  none, 
and,  provided  you  follow  the  current  of  the  rules  of  your 
art,  you  need  not  be  uneasy  ;  but  the  vexatious  part  of 
treating  people  of  quality  is  that  when  they  fall  ill,  they 
absolutely  demand  that  their  physicians  cure  them." 

Bol&ana. 


MOLIERE   AND    THE    PHYSICIANS     303 

The  most  uncompromising  attack  upon  medicine  oc- 
curs, however,  in  a  long  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  tedi- 
ous scene,  in  which  Argan's  brother,  Beralde,  expounds 
the  author's  own  views  in  the  following  manner  : 

Between  ourselves,  I  consider  medicine  one  of  the 
greatest  follies  of  mankind  ;  and  to  look  philosophically 
at  things,  I  do  not  know  a  more  amusing  mummery,  nor 
do  I  see  anything  more  ridiculous  than  for  one  man  to 
undertake  to  cure  another.  .  .  .  The  springs  of  our 
machine  are  a  mystery,  of  which,  up  to  the  present  time, 
men  have  seen  nothing  ;  since  nature  has  placed  too  thick 
a  veil  before  our  eyes  for  us  to  know  anything  about 
it.  ...  Most  of  the  doctors  have  a  deal  of  classical 
learning,  know  how  to  speak  in  good  Latin,  can  name 
all  the  diseases  in  Greek,  define  and  classify  them  ;  but 
as  regards  curing  them  they  know  nothing  at  all. 

This  sounds  like  a  wail  from  Moliere's  own  heart. 
Indeed,  each  of  his  medical  comedies  represents  a  phase 
of  his  incurable  malady.  Love  as  a  Doctor^  so  bitter  in 
tone,  was  written  when  the  disease  first  manifested  itself. 
After  nature  had  won  a  temporary  triumph,  The  Doctor 
in  Spite  of  Himself  was  penned  to  paint  in  a  vein  of 
pleasantry  the  impotence  of  medicine  ;  then  continued 
suffering  the  physicians  were  unable  to  alleviate  inspired 
those  more  stinging  satires,  Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac 
and  The  Imaginary  Invalid,  —  each  an  expression  of  the 
author's  bitterness  toward  medicine.  In  this  connection 
M.  Larroumet  speaks  pertinently  : 

Among  the  causes  of  hypochondria,  stomach  troubles 
stand  pre-eminent,  then  extreme  sensitiveness,  moral  pre- 
occupations, a  life  of  overwork.  Are  not  all  these  united 
in  Moliere?  The  hypochondriac  professes  either  exag- 
gerated confidence  in  medicine  or  absolute  scepticism 


3o4  MOLIERE 

toward  it,  often  commencing  with  the  one  only  to  finish 
with  the  other ;  but,  sceptical  or  confiding,  he  concerns 
himself  greatly  with  medicine,  reading  medical  works  with 
avidity  or  seeking  to  draw  doctors  into  conversation. 
After  the  general  practitioner  he  must  have  the  specialist, 
then  the  advertiser,  finally  the  charlatan.  Moliere  seems 
to  have  passed  through  each  of  these  different  stages  of 
the  disease.  To  make  doctors  speak  and  behave  as  he 
does,  he  must  have  seen  some  of  all  classes,  while  to 
discourse  about  the  medicine  of  his  time  so  accurately 
as  to  call  forth  the  admiration  of  Maurice  Raynaud,  he 
must  have  studied  it  at  close  range.1 

The  Imaginary  Invalid  bears  witness  to  the  truth  of 
this  in  its  half  credulous,  half  sceptical  view  of  medicine  ; 
for  Argan  is  one  phase  of  Moliere's  self,  Beralde  another. 
It  was  written  to  amuse  the  King,  but  a  quarrel  with 
Lully  over  the  musical  features  made  it  first  see  the 
stage  at  the  Palais  Royal.  Lully,  having  obtained  an 
operatic  monopoly  from  his  Majesty,  grew  arrogant  and 
dictatorial ;  so  Moliere  called  in  Charpentier,  another 
composer,  to  write  the  ballet  interludes,  with  the  result 
that  Louis  took  Lully's  part ;  hence,  in  writing  his  last 
play,  our  poet  experienced  the  proverbial  ingratitude  of 
kings. 

Though  death  was  breaking  his  "  vital  chain,"  this 
comedy  shows  no  diminution  in  Moliere's  mastery  of  his 
art.  Argan  is  a  world  character,  Toinette  and  Beline 
each  a  familiar  type,  —  the  one  of  feminine  craft  and  im- 
pudence, the  other  of  heartless  policy ;  while  Purgon 
and  the  Diafoiruses,  father  and  son,  shorn  of  their  fur- 
trimmed  gowns,  stand  revealed  as  academic  snobs  such 
as  obtain  wherever  doctoral  caps  adorn  dull  heads. 

1  La  Comedie  de  Moliere. 


MOLIERE   AND   THE   PHYSICIANS     305 

Again  the  word  "  farce  "  dies  on  one's  lips,  for  although 
this  masterful  play  is  replete  with  exaggeration  and  droll- 
ery, no  truer  characters  ever  graced  a  comedy.  Who  has 
not  known  a  peevish  invalid ;  a  crafty  step-mother ;  or  a 
pompous,  pragmatical  physician,  prescribing  "  according 
to  the  rules "  ?  As  a  page  of  human  life,  The  Imagi- 
nary Invalid  is  excelled  only  by  The  Misanthrope  and 
The  Hypocrite.  As  an  immortal  type,  Argan  the  hypo- 
chondriac ranks  beside  Monsieur  Jourdain  the  upstart 
gentleman  and  Harpagon  the  miser,  —  a  proof  that  the 
light  of  Moliere's  genius  burned  undimmed  to  the 
last. 


20 


3o6  MOLIERE 


XVI 

MOLI£RE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 

IN  the  days  when  domestic  troubles  were  ripening,  gen- 
erous friendships  were  Moliere's  solace ;  long  before  the 
rupture  with  his  wife  drove  him  to  seek  an  asylum  at 
Auteuil,  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting  a  few  con- 
genial spirits  such  as  Chapelle,  La  Fontaine  and  Racine 
at  Boileau's  apartment  in  the  rue  du  Colombier.  More- 
over, such  taverns  as  the  White  Sheep  and  the  Lor- 
raine Cross  rang  to  the  laughter  of  this  gathering  of 
genius ;  but  Moliere  was  no  such  tippler  as  Chapelle, 
and  appears  to  have  exercised  a  sobering  influence  dur- 
ing more  than  one  bohemian  carouse.  In  all  French 
literary  history  there  is  no  coterie  more  gifted  than  the 
one  which  habitually  assembled  under  Boileau's  roof; 
yet  it  was  not  without  dissension,  for  Racine's  friendship 
"was  apparently  a  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame." 

When  this  most  classic  of  French  dramatic  poets  first 
met  Moliere,  he  was  fresh  from  his  religious  training  at 
Port  Royal,  yet  he  does  not  appear  to  have  been  well 
grounded  in  principles  of  moral  rectitude ;  after  making 
his  debut  as  a  professional  versifier  by  an  ode  on  the 
King's  marriage,  he  became  a  dramatist  and  played  our 
poet  a  trick  so  scurvy  that  even  his  apologists  seek 
excuses  in  vain.  Moreover,  while  his  Jansenist  friends 
were  praying  for  his  lost  soul,  he  was  writing  facetious 
letters  to  his  friend  the  Abbe  le  Vasseur  in  mockery  of 
the  religious  doings  at  Port  Royal,  —  a  piece  of  ingrati- 
tude quite  in  keeping  with  his  treatment  of  Moliere. 


MOLIERE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS        307 

He  met  the  manager  of  the  Palais  Royal  some  time 
previous  to  the  year  1663  and  induced  him  to  present 
'The  Thebaid,  his  first  tragedy.  Furthermore,  the  young 
man  was  paid  what  we  now  call  "  advanced  royalties," 
and  there  is  considerable  evidence  indicating  that  Moliere 
edited  his  manuscript  in  order  to  make  it  suitable  for  the 
stage.  Although  The  Thebdid  was  played  only  a  few 
times  and  to  small  receipts,  he  produced  Alexander^  the 
young  dramatist's  next  tragedy,  on  December  fourth, 
1665  ;  yet  when  the  new  piece  had  attained  a  consider- 
able success,  Racine,  regardless  of  Moliere's  kindness 
to  an  unknown  author,  surreptitiously  placed  it  in  re- 
hearsal at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  and,  despite  the 
unwritten  law  of  the  day  that  a  play  until  printed  was 
the  property  of  the  troupe  first  presenting  it,  Alexander 
was  given  there  on  December  eighteenth  without  warning 
to  the  management  of  the  Palais  Royal.  Racine's  sole 
excuse  for  this  shabby  behaviour  was  dissatisfaction 
with  the  interpretation  Moliere's  players  had  given  his 
tragedy. 

In  his  Register  La  Grange  says,  "  the  troupe  believing 
that  after  having  treated  them  so  badly  as  to  have  given 
and  taught  other  actors  his  play,  it  owed  no  author's 
royalties  to  the  said  M.  Racine,  the  said  author's  royal- 
ties were  divided,  each  of  the  twelve  actors  receiving  his 
share,"  —  a  piece  of  retributive  justice  no  one  can  gain- 
say ;  yet  Moliere  was  so  magnanimous  as  to  defend 
his  young  rival's  comedy  'The  Pleaders  (Les  Plaideurs). 
'This  comedy  is  excellent,"  he  exclaimed,  "and  those 
who  ridicule  it  deserve  to  be  ridiculed  themselves  "  ; 1  yet 
even  to  Moliere's  courtesy  there  was  a  limit,  for,  not  con- 
tent with  taking  his  tragedy  to  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne, 

1   Memoires  sur  la  vie  de  Jean  Racine  by  Louis  Racine,  the  poet's  son. 


jo8  MOLIERE 

Racine  made  love  to  the  Italian  beauty  Therese  de 
Gorla  du  Pare  and  induced  her  to  desert  Moliere's  forces 
during  the  Easter  closing  of  his  theatre  (1667),  —  a  last 
straw,  it  would  seem,  for  thereafter  Moliere  severed  all 
friendly  relations  with  the  younger  poet.  Indeed,  about 
a  year  thereafter,  The  Foolish  Quarrel;  or,  The  Criticism 
of  Andromachus  (La  Folle  querelle  ou  la  Critique  cT Andro- 
maque)  by  one  Subligny  was  placed  upon  the  stage  of  the 
Palais  Royal,  —  a  play,  as  its  title  suggests,  satirising 
Racine.  To  quote  M.  Mesnard,  "as  a  plate  of  ven- 
geance it  was  not  served  very  hot ;  moreover,  it  was 
very  badly  cooked  and  without  sufficient  salt "  ; 1  yet,  as 
this  same  writer  adds,  "  one  likes  to  think  that  Moliere 
did  not  wish  to  wage  a  more  wicked  war." 

Although  Racine's  Alexandrines  are  the  noblest  in 
French  dramatic  poetry,  his  treatment  of  Moliere  can 
only  be  described  as  base ;  yet  Boileau  could  not  have 
remained  his  friend  through  life  had  he  been  so  con- 
temptible a  man  as  his  behaviour  on  this  occasion  would 
indicate.  This  most  independent  critic  of  his  day  was 
wont  to  bestow  his  praise  wherever  due,  his  censure 
whenever  merited ;  yet  despite  the  quarrel  which  sepa- 
rated Moliere  and  Racine,  he  retained  the  friendship  of 
both  poets  until  death  had  silenced  their  lyres.  His 
judgment  of  their  achievements,  too,  was  discriminating, 
his  friendship  valiant;  for  when  The  School  for  Wives 
was  attacked  so  viciously  by  the  critics  for  its  supposed 
impiety,  he  became  Moliere's  defender ;  yet  he  was 
equally  sincere  in  condemning  his  actor  friend  for  allying 
himself  with  Tabarin.2 

1  Notice  biograpbique  sur  Moliere. 

2  On  the  occasion  of  the  production  of  The  Rascalities  of  Scapin. 
See  page  352. 


MOLIERE   AND    HIS   FRIENDS       309 

Boileau's  acquaintance  with  Racine  dates  from  1664, 
and,  to  quote  Professor  Crane,  "  it  ripened  into  the 
most  perfect  friendship  known  in  the  annals  of  literary 
history";1  yet  he  was  equally  the  confidant  of  Moliere. 
Indeed,  each  poet  found  in  him  an  ardent  admirer  and 
impartial  critic ;  for  in  judging  their  works  his  acumen 
was  singularly  discriminating.  Although  his  friendship 
with  Racine  was  perhaps  deeper  than  his  regard  for 
Moliere,  when  asked  by  the  King  what  great  writer  had 
most  honoured  his  reign,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  answer, 
"  Moliere,  sire."  "  I  think  not,"  Louis  replied  ;  "  but 
you  know  better  than  I,"2  —  at  once  a  tribute  to  the 
judgment  of  Boileau  and  of  posterity. 

In  view  of  the  confession  of  faith  made  in  his  ninth 
satire,  it  is  not  surprising  to  find  Boileau  so  ardent  an. 
admirer  of  Moliere.  "  Nothing  is  beautiful  but  the 
truth,"  he  there  exclaims  ;  "  the  truth  alone  is  lovable  !  " 
Moreover,  Brossette  asserts  that  Boileau  was  the  de- 
clared  enemy  of  everything  which  offends  reason,  nature, 
or  truth."  3  Where  could  he  have  found  a  more  valiant 
defender  of  his  creed  than  in  the  great  apostle  of  dra- 
matic truth  ? 

Boileau,  too,  showed  scant  mercy  toward  such  af- 
fected poets  as  Chapelain,  Quinault,  and  Cotin,  and  he 
held  that  the  novels  Mile,  de  Scudery  "gave  birth 
to  each  month,  were  artless,  languishing  writings  seem- 
ingly shaped  in  spite  of  good  sense,"4  —  a  stricture  upon 

1  Les  Heros  de  roman. 

2  Louis  Racine  tells  this  anecdote  in  his  Memoires,  and  as  Moliere  is 
awarded  the  palm  over  his  father,  there  should  be  little  doubt  regarding 
its  truth. 

8  Boleeana. 

4  Boileau's  second  satire,  dedicated  to  Moliere. 


3io  MOLIERE 

bad  taste  and  affectation  clearly  evincing  a  mind  capable 
of  appreciating  Moliere's  sane  philosophy  of  life.  Still, 
it  was  almost  in  spite  of  himself  that  he  admired  the 
actor  poet  above  all  other  writers  of  his  day ;  for  he  was 
unable  to  see  that  the  homely  logic  of  Sganarelle  was  as 
true  as  the  exalted  philosophy  of  Alceste.  Moreover, 
Moliere  was  too  thoroughly  a  friend  of  the  people  to 
suit  Boileau's  taste,  too  disregardful  of  the  dignity  of  his 
art  for  the  critic  to  pardon  his  friend's  persistence  in  con- 
tinuing on  the  stage  after  he  had  become  a  poet  of  the 
first  magnitude. 

In  this  connection  Brossette  l  tells  an  anecdote  clearly 
illustrating  Boileau's  views.  It  appears  that  a  short  time 
before  Moliere's  death  the  two  friends  indulged  in  an 
amicable  dispute  inspired  by  a  fear  on  the  critic's  part 
that  Moliere  was  leading  too  strenuous  a  life  for  a  man 
in  his  physical  condition.  After  arguing  with  his  over- 
worked friend  upon  the  necessity  of  retiring  from  the 
stage  for  the  sake  of  his  health,  Boileau  thus  adjured 
him  : 

"  Content  yourself  with  writing  and  leave  the  acting 
to  one  of  your  comrades.  This  will  make  you  more 
respected  by  the  public,  who  will  consider  your  actors 
as  your  supernumeraries.  Moreover,  the  players  them- 
selves, none  too  submissive  to  you  now,  will  better  feel 
your  superiority." 

Moliere's  answer  shows  at  once  the  man  of  over- 
wrought nerves  and  the  actor  "  whose  advantage  is 
applause  "  : 

"Ah,  my  dear  sir,  how  can  you  speak  so!  It  is  a 
point  of  honour  with  me  not  to  give  up." 

Boileau  saw  the  futility  of  arguing  with  one  so  wedded 

1  Bol&ana. 


MOLIERE   AND   HIS   FRIENDS        311 

to  the  footlights  ;    his   own   feelings   are  shown   in  the 
reflections  he  made  at  the  moment : 

A  pretty  point  of  honour,  indeed,  to  blacken  his 
face  daily  to  produce  the  moustache  of  Sganarelle  and 
give  his  back  to  all  the  beatings  of  comedy  !  What,  this 
man,  in  perception  and  true  philosophical  feeling  the 
first  of  our  time,  this  ingenious  censor  of  all  human 
follies,  cherishes  one  greater  than  any  he  ridicules  daily  ! 
That  thoroughly  shows  how  little  men  amount  to  after 
all. 

In  the  republic  of  letters  Boileau  was  a  censorious 
patrician,  Moliere  the  people's  tribune  ;  hence  the  one 
could  not  understand  that  the  hearty  laughter  of  the  pit, 
far  more  than  the  supercilious  smile  of  the  courtier  seated 
on  the  stage,  told  the  other  that  he  had  revealed  true 
human  nature.  It  was  a  point  of  honour  with  Moliere 
not  to  give  up,  because  he  was  at  once  the  public's  idol 
and  its  slave,  —  an  actor  living  for  the  hand  claps,  a  poet 
whose  Parnassus  was  the  stage,  though  his  muse  dwelt  in 
the  surging  pit.  Love  of  the  theatre  was  in  his  blood, 
and  he  could  no  more  give  up  while  the  breath  of  life  was 
in  him  than  Boileau,  the  haughty  critic,  could  have  bared 
his  back  to  those  beatings  of  comedy.  His  actor  friend 
was  the  author  of  The  Misanthrope ;  so  Boileau  condoned, 
but  did  not  pardon  him,  the  crime  of  being  a  farceur. 
He  knew  the  depth,  but  failed  to  see  the  breadth,  of  his 
genius. 

A  friend  of  a  different  cloth  was  Claude-Emmanuel 
Chapelle,  the  comrade  of  Moliere's  youth.  A  natural 
son  of  Fra^ois  Luillier,  maitre  des  comptes,  this  epicurean 
roisterer  and  dilettante  poet  took  his  name  from  La 
Chapelle  St.  Denis,  his  birthplace.  Being  legitimised  at 
the  age  of  sixteen,  upon  his  father's  death  in  1652  he 


MOLlfiRE 

inherited  a  considerable  fortune,  whereupon  he  gave  him- 
self over  completely  to  a  life  of  pleasure,  divided  about 
equally  between  society  and  vice.  In  the  fashionable 
world  he  was  well  received,  but  he  never  sacrificed  an 
hour  of  amusement  for  a  social  engagement. 

Once  when  pressed  by  the  Due  de  Brissac  to  pay  a 
visit  to  his  family  seat,  Chapelle  left  Paris  in  company 
with  his  Grace,  but  happening  to  dine  at  Augers  with  a 
canon  of  his  acquaintance,  he  chanced  upon  these  words 
in  a  copy  of  Plutarch,  "  He  who  follows  the  great  be- 
comes a  slave"  ;  whereupon  he  left  the  duke  to  pursue 
his  way  alone.  On  another  occasion,  having  an  engage- 
ment to  dine  with  the  great  Conde,  he  took  a  stroll  before 
the  appointed  hour,  and  chancing  upon  some  pall-mall 
players  he  was  invited  to  settle  a  disputed  point.  His 
decision  was  so  just  that  they  asked  him  to  sup  with 
them, —  an  invitation  which  made  him  forget  his  prom- 
ise to  the  prince.  "  In  truth,  your  Highness,"  he  said 
in  excuse,  "  the  people  who  invited  me  to  supper  were 
worthy  folk  and  they  knew  thoroughly  well  how  to 
live." 

An  incorrigible  votary  of  Bacchus,  Chapelle  was  locked 
up  at  the  age  of  twenty  in  a  correctionary  prison. 
Bachaumont,  the  collaborator  of  his  youth,  forsook  dis- 
sipation for  matrimony,  and  astonished  his  friends  by 
proclaiming  that  "  an  honest  man  ought  to  live  at  the 
door  of  a  church  and  die  in  the  sacristy  " ;  but  Chapelle 
never  forswore  the  doctrine  that  pleasure  is  the  highest 
good.  His  fondness  for  the  wine  cup  was  indeed  a 
source  of  anxiety  to  his  friends.  On  one  occasion  Boi- 
leau,  meeting  him  in  the  street,  reproached  him  for  this 
failing.  "  I  have  resolved  to  reform,"  Chapelle  replied, 
"  I  feel  the  truth  of  your  arguments  "  ;  then,  suggesting 


MOLIERE   AND    HIS   FRIENDS        313 

that  if  they  entered  a  neighbouring  tavern  they  might 
finish  their  talk  undisturbed,  the  wretch  filled  Boileau's 
glass  so  frequently  that  his  temperance  advocacy  ended 
in  intoxication.1 

Moliere' s  intimacy  with  Chapelle  began  when  they 
were  both  students  of  Gassendi,  the  epicurean  ;  yet  the 
dramatist  was  no  such  disciple  of  pleasure  as  his  disso- 
lute comrade.  Indeed  their  friendship  was  apparently 
due  to  that  contrariety  in  taste  which  occasionally  brings 
strong,  opposing  natures  into  intimate  relations.  In 
1667  they  rented  an  apartment  together  in  a  country 
house  at  Auteuil  from  one  Jacques  de  Grou,  sieur  de 
Beaufort,  where  Moliere  resided  until  he  became  recon- 
ciled to  his  wife,2  but  Chapelle  was  only  a  periodical  visi- 
tor. In  the  words  of  Grimarest :  3 

The  friendship  they  formed  at  college  continued  un- 
til the  last  moment ;  yet  Chapelle  was  not  a  comforting 
friend.  He  was  too  dissipated,  and,  although  he  loved 
truly,  he  was  not  capable  of  fulfilling  those  assiduous 
duties  which  awaken  friendship.  He  had,  however,  an 
apartment  in  Moliere's  house  at  Auteuil,  but  it  was  more 
for  the  purpose  of  making  merry  than  for  leading  a  serious 
life. 

"  Not  only  a  good  actor,  but  an  excellent  author, 
Moliere  took  care,"  according  to  this  same  authority, 
"  to  cultivate  philosophy,"  and  in  argument  with 
Chapelle  took  the  side  of  Descartes  in  opposition  to 
Gassendi's  doctrines.  Although  Chapelle  was  sincere, 
"  this  quality  was  often  founded  on  false  principles,  from 

1   Mtfmoires  by  Louis  Racine. 

a  Les  Points  obscurs  de  la  vie  de  Moliere  by  Jules  Loiseleur. 
8  Fairly  trustworthy  as  an  authority  for  the  events  of  Moliere's  later 
years. 


MOLIERE 

which  he  could  not  be  reclaimed.  Wishing  to  offend  no 
one,  he  could  not,  however,  resist  the  pleasure  of  speak- 
ing his  mind  or  of  passing  a  witticism  at  the  expense  of 
his  friends." 

Chapelle  was  vain,  too,  being  accused  of  boasting  that 
he  had  written  the  best  part  of  Moliere's  phantasy,  The 
Bores;  but  their  relations  were  not  chilled  thereby,  and 
whenever  he  left  Paris  to  visit  friends  in  the  country  it 
was  his  pleasure  to  send  Moliere  succulent  pasties  baked 
expressly  for  him,  —  a  tangible  argument  in  favour  of 
epicurean  truth. 

Grimarest  tells  an  amusing  anecdote  of  Chapelle  in  his 
cups,  which  well  illustrates  Moliere's  tact,  —  a  quality  so 
necessary  to  a  theatrical  manager.  Chapetle,  it  appears, 
returning  from  Auteuil  in  his  habitual  state  of  intoxica- 
tion, insisted  upon  making  a  favourite  servant,  invariably 
accorded  the  privilege  of  riding  on  the  seat  beside  him, 
descend  and  mount  the  footman's  platform.  The  man, 
accustomed  to  his  master's  habits,  took  this  command  as 
a  mere  drunken  caprice  with  the  result  that  Chapelle  be- 
gan to  pommel  him  for  his  disobedience.  The  coach- 
man was  obliged  to  descend  and  separate  the  belligerents, 
whereupon  the  offending  servant  fled,  pursued  by  his 
irate  master.  Moliere,  luckily  a  witness  of  the  scene, 
came  to  the  rescue  and  was  appealed  to  as  arbiter, 
Chapelle  maintaining  that  his  rascally  servant  had 
usurped  a  seat  in  his  carriage,  and  the  culprit  that  he 
had  been  privileged  to  ride  with  his  master  for  fully 
thirty  years.  The  poet's  judgment  was  worthy  of 
Solomon.  "  You  were  wrong,"  he  told  the  valet, "  to  be 
disrespectful  to  your  master;  therefore  I  condemn  you  to 
mount  behind  his  carriage  and  ride  to  the  end  of  the 
meadow.  There  you  will  politely  beg  his  permission 


MOLIERE   AND    HIS   FRIENDS        315 

to  enter  the  vehicle,  —  a  boon  I  feel  sure  he  will  grant." 
"  Egad,  Moliere,"  cried  Chapelle,  "  I  am  greatly  obliged 
to  you,  for  the  affair  was  embarrassing.  Good-bye,  my 
dear  friend ;  you  judge  better  than  any  man  in  France." 

Another  of  Moliere's  friends  whose  vagaries  must  be 
attributed  to  genius  was  La^^ntajrie^jthe  Jkhulist,  —  a 
man  whose  utter  indifference  to  the  obligations  and 
restraints  of  life  was  the  distinguishing  feature  of  his 
character.  To  his  lasting  credit  he  adhered  nobly  in 
the  hour  of  disgrace  to  Fouquet,  the  man  whose  bounty 
he  had  enjoyed  ;  yet  he  was  the  spoiled  child  of  Moliere's 
literary  circle,  where  he  was  affectionately  addressed  as 
le  bonhomme.  So  absent  minded  that  he  would  sit  for 
hours  at  a  time  in  a  state  of  abstraction,  he  became  the 
object  of  many  jests ;  and  on  one  occasion  Racine  and 
Boileau  bantered  him  so  cruelly  that  Moliere,  taking  a 
friend  into  a  corner,  exclaimed,  "  Our  fine  wits  may 
frisk  as  much  as  they  please,  but  they  will  never  efface 
our  good  fellow  there  !  "  1  a  demonstration  of  prescience 
on  the  dramatist's  part,  since  La  Fontaine,  next  to  him- 
self, is  now  considered  the  most  original  genius  of  that 
age.  Boileau,  however,  ignored  the  fabulist  in  his  criti- 
cisms, being  doubtless  unable  to  recognise  that  by 
adorning  fable  with  the  beauties  of  poetry  his  absent 
minded  friend  had  created  a  new  branch  of  literature. 

La  Fontaine  was  as  simple  in  evil  as  in  good,  and  is 
reputed  never  to  have  told  a  lie  in  all  his  life ;  yet  in 
spite  of  this  admirable  quality,  he  was  apparently  with- 
out moral  sense.  Without  any  tangible  reason  except 
tedium,  he  lived  apart  from  his  wife ;  and  at  one  time 
Boileau  and  Racine,  attempting  a  reconciliation,  per- 
suaded him  to  make  the  journey  to  Chateau-Thierry, 

1  Histoire  de  F  Academic  fran$oise  depuis  1652  jusqu'a  1700  by  Olivet. 


316  MOLIERE 

where  his  wife  resided,  with  an  olive  branch  in  his  hand. 
Learning  that  she  was  at  vespers  when  he  arrived,  the 
fabulist  went  to  sup  with  some  friends,  and  was  passed 
on  from  house  to  house  during  the  bad  weather  which 
followed,  until  he  was  obliged  to  return  to  Paris  to  attend 
a  meeting  of  the  Academy  without  having  seen  his  unfor- 
tunate spouse. 

He  could  fill  the  role  of  boon  companion,  however, 
and  apparently  he  was  a  leading  spirit  in  the  remarkable 
literary  club  which  met  in  Boileau's  apartment.  In  his 
introduction  to  The  Loves  of  Psyche  and  Cupid  (Les 
Amours  de  Psyche  et  Cupidon)  he  has  left  a  charming  pen 
sketch  of  this  coterie  of  geniuses : 

Four  friends  whose  acquaintance  began  upon  Par- 
nassus formed  a  kind  of  club  which  I  would  call  an 
academy  had  their  number  been  larger  and  had  they 
possessed  as  much  regard  for  the  Muses  as  for  pleasure. 
The  first  thing  they  did  was  to  banish  formal  conversa- 
tion and  everything  that  savoured  of  academic  discussion. 
When  they  were  met  together,  and  had  talked  sufficiently 
about  their  amusements,  if  chance  led  them  to  touch 
upon  any  question  of  science  or  literature,  they  profited 
by  the  opportunity,  yet  invariably  without  dwelling  too 
long  on  any  one  subject,  flying  off  purposely  to  another 
like  bees  who  meet  divers  flowers  on  their  way.  Envy, 
malice,  or  intrigue  found  no  voice  among  them.  They 
adored  the  works  of  the  ancients,  yet  did  not  refuse  to 
those  of  the  moderns  such  praise  as  was  their  due,  speak- 
ing of  their  own  performances  with  modesty,  and  giving 
each  other  honest  advice  whenever  one  of  their  number 
chanced  to  be  seized  with  the  malady  of  the  age  and 
wrote  a  book,  —  an  event  which  rarely  happened. 

Admitting  that  Polyphide  (the  name  under  which  he 
introduces  himself)  was  the  greatest  offender  in  this 


MOLIERE   AND    HIS   FRIENDS        317 

respect,  La  Fontaine  adds  that  Acante  (Racine)  "  did  not 
fail  according  to  custom  to  propose  a  walk,"  while,  "  of 
the  two  friends  whom  I  shall  call  Ariste  and  Gelaste,  the 
first  was  serious  without  being  discomforting  and  the 
other  extremely  gay." 

Ariste  was  Boileau,  and  Gelaste  Moliere,  until  his 
quarrel  with  Racine  brought  "  envy,  malice,  and  intrigue  " 
into  that  charmed  circle,  when  the  name  Gelaste  was 
used  to  indicate  Chapelle.1  Upon  Moliere's  retirement 
to  his  asylum  at  Auteuil,  he,  instead  of  Boileau,  was  the 
most  serious  member  of  the  Parnassian  coterie  described 
by  La  Fontaine ;  for,  despite  his  quarrel  with  Racine, 
his  relations  with  the  other  intellects  of  that  charmed 
circle  remained  unaltered.  Moreover,  he  was  not  per- 
mitted to  live  in  his  retreat  unmolested,  as  an  amusing 
anecdote  well  testifies. 

It  appears  that  one  day  Chapelle,  Boileau,  and  a 
number  of  Moliere 's  gay  friends  went  to  Auteuil,  unin- 
vited, boldly  announcing  that  they  had  come  to  supper. 

"  I  would  have  been  more  pleased,"  said  the  drama- 
tist, "were  it  possible  for  me  to  keep  you  company,  but 
the  state  of  my  health  will  not  permit  it.  I  leave  to 
M.  Chapelle  the  duty  of  entertaining  you." 

What  a  picture  of  Alceste  in  his  desert  Moliere's  words 
convey  !  Too  ill  to  entertain  his  friends,  he  was  forced 
to  drink  his  milk  and  leave  them  to  carouse  under  the 
leadership  of  Chapelle. 

"  Egad,  I  'm  a  great  fool,"  said  that  epicurean,  "  to 
come  here  every  day  and  get  drunk  for  the  honour  of 
Moliere  ;  but  what  provokes  me  most  is  that  he  believes 
I  am  obliged  to  do  it." 

Moliere  was  right  in  this  conjecture.     At  three  in  the 

1  Notice  biograpbique  sur  Moliere  by  Paul  Mesnard. 


3i8  MOLIERE 

morning,  with  the  poet's  wine  singing  in  his  veins, 
Chapelle  preached  a  cynical  sermon  to  his  maudlin 
comrades : 

"  Life  is  but  a  trifle,  replete  with  obstacles.  For 
thirty  or  forty  years  we  lie  in  wait  for  a  moment  of 
pleasure  we  never  meet.  Our  youth  is  tormented  by 
wretched  parents  who  wish  us  to  cram  our  heads  with  a 
heap  of  nonsense.  I  don't  care  a  hang  whether  the 
earth  or  the  sun  turns,  whether  that  fool  Descartes  or 
that  madman  Aristotle  is  right.  I  once  had  a  crazy 
teacher  who  told  that  twaddle  to  me  over  and  over 
again  and  kept  me  for  ever  falling  back  on  Epicurus. 
Once  more,  pass  that  philosopher  by.  He  was  the  one 
who  knew  the  most.  No  sooner  are  we  rid  of  such 
fools  than  our  ears  are  deafened  with  talk  about  a  do- 
mestic establishment.  All  women  are  but  animals,  the 
sworn  enemies  of  our  tranquillity.  Yes,  egad,  there  is 
nothing  in  life  but  trouble,  injustice,  and  misfortune." 

Upon  hearing  this  discourse,  one  of  Chapelle's  drunken 
companions  embraced  him  fondly  and  exclaimed  : 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear  friend ;  without  the  pleasure 
here,  what  should  we  do  ?  Life  is  a  poor  lot.  Let  us 
leave  it,  and  for  fear  that  such  good  friends  as  we  may 
be  separated,  let  us  drown  ourselves  together.  The 
river  is  at  the  door." 

"  True,"  said  another,  "  we  can  never  choose  a  better 
time  to  die  happy  and  good  friends  ;  moreover,  our  death 
will  create  some  noise "  ;  whereupon  the  whole  melan- 
cholically  merry  company  staggered  to  the  river  bank  and 
were  just  entering  a  boat  with  a  view  to  throwing  them- 
selves into  deep  water,  when  Moliere,  awakened  by 
young  Baron,  his  house  guest,  reached  the  water's  edge 
with  his  servants  in  the  nick  of  time,  for  some  of  his 


MOLIERE   AND    HIS   FRIENDS        319 

friends  were  already  floundering  in  the  Seine.  Upon 
being  dragged  ashore,  these  wretches  drew  their  swords 
and  chased  their  rescuers  back  to  Auteuil,  where  the 
most  persistent  advocate  of  self  destruction  thus  admon- 
ished his  host: 

"  I  say,  my  dear  Moliere,  you  are  clever.  Judge  if 
we  are  wrong.  Weary  of  the  troubles  of  this  world,  and 
in  order  to  be  better  off,  we  resolved  to  enter  another. 
The  river  appeared  the  shortest  route,  but  those  rascally 
servants  of  yours  blocked  it.  Can  we  do  less  than 
chastise  them  ?  " 

"  How  was  it  possible,  gentlemen,  for  you  to  conceive 
so  noble  a  project  without  letting  me  share  it  ? "  Mo- 
liere exclaimed,  after  upbraiding  his  servants  for  prevent- 
ing the  fulfilment  of  so  praiseworthy  a  design.  "What, 
you  would  drown  yourselves  without  me  ?  I  thought 
you  were  better  friends  of  mine  than  that." 

"He's  deuced  right;"  cried  Chapelle,  " we  did  him 
great  injustice."  Then,  turning  to  his  host,  he  con- 
tinued with  drunken  fervour,  "  Come,  then,  and  drown 
yourself  with  us." 

"  Softly,"  said  Moliere,  "this  is  not  an  affair  to  be 
undertaken  in  an  unseemly  manner.  It  is  the  last  act 
of  our  life  and  it  must  not  be  lacking  in  dignity.  If  we 
drown  ourselves  at  this  hour,  the  world  would  be  mean 
enough  to  speak  ill  of  it ;  people  would  surely  say  that 
we  did  it  at  night  like  desperate  men  or  like  a  lot 
of  drunkards ;  so  let  us  choose  the  moment  most 
worthy  of  our  action,  the  moment  which  will  reflect  the 
most  honour  upon  ourselves.  To-morrow,  between 
eight  and  nine  in  the  morning,  when  still  fasting,  we 
will  jump  head  frst  in  the  river  before  the  whole 
world." 


320  MOLIERE 

Moliere's  proposition  was  received  with  unanimous 
approbation,  one  of  the  members  of  this  tipsy  suicide 
club  exclaiming  that  "  Moliere  always  has  a  hundred 
times  more  sense  than  the  rest  of  us,"  but  naturally 
death  appeared  less  attractive  in  the  cold  grey  light  of 
the  morrow. 

This  famous  incident,  equal  in  its  comedy  to  any  of 
Moliere's  own  conceptions,  is  known  as  the  _Aiileuil 
supper.  The  dialogue  is  taken,  verbatim,  from  Gri- 
marest's  account,  —  an  abused  authority,  which  in  this 
instance  is  corroborated ;  for  Louis  Racine,  in  his  me- 
moirs of  his  father,  tells  a  similar  story  of  this  famous 
incident,  which  though  "unbelievable,"  as  he  declares, 
"  is  thoroughly  true."  "  Fortunately,"  he  continues,  "  his 
father  was  not  there,"  although  "the  wise  Boileau  '  was 
one  of  the  party  and  "  lost  his  senses  like  the  rest." 

Moliere's  friends  were  not  all  roisterers,  however.  In 
the  more  serious  affairs  of  life  he  turned  for  advice  and 
countenance  to  Jacques- -RoJiault,  the  Cartesian,  to  whom 
he  unburdened  his  heart  regarding  his  domestic  trials  by 
exclaiming  so  bitterly  :  "  Yes,  my  dear  Monsieur  Rohault, 
I  am  the  most  unhappy  of  all  men."  This  sceptic  and 
philosopher  was  a  fervent  expounder  of  the  doctrines  of 
Descartes,  and  doubtless  his  influence  made  the  poet 
forswear  the  epicurean  teachings  of  Gassendi  for  the 
principle  that  "  Truth  requires  a  clear  and  distinct  con- 
ception of  its  object,  excluding  all  doubt " ;  for  in  his 
dramatic  work,  so  truthful  in  conception,  so  clear  in 
treatment,  Moliere  reflects  to  a  considerable  degree  this 
Cartesian  postulate.  Furthermore,  Grimarest  tells  a 
story  of  a  boat  ride  on  the  Seine  during  which  Chapelle 
and  Moliere  indulged  in  a  violent  philosophical  argument 
upon  the  relative  merits  of  Gassendi  and  Descartes,  with 


MOLIERE   AND    HIS   FRIENDS        321 

a  Minim  as  arbiter,  —  an  incident  noteworthy  as  further 
evidence  of  Moliere's  Cartesian  leanings. 

Grimarest  asserts  that  Rohault  served  as  model  for 
the  philosopher  in  The  Burgher,  a  Gentleman,  adding 
that  Moliere,  wishing  to  make  the  likeness  unmistakable, 
sent  Baron  to  borrow  a  peculiar  old  hat  which  Rohault 
invariably  wore.  The  emissary,  however,  by  telling  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  intended,  failed  to  obtain  the 
desired  object,  since  the  philosopher,  in  the  words  of 
the  chronicler,  "  would  have  felt  himself  dishonoured  had 
his  head-dress  appeared  upon  the  stage/*  Upon  another 
occasion  Rohault  played  a  part  in  no  way  philosophical ; 
yet,  as  the  event  presents  Moliere  in  a  new  and  favourable 
manner,  the  digression  its  recountal  demands  should  be 
pardonable.  It  concerns  the  elder  Jean  Poquelin's  none 
too  scrupulous  accounting  as  executor  of  his  first  wife's 
estate,  and  Moliere's  charitableness  when  his  father  be- 
came involved  in  financial  difficulties  toward  the  close 
of  his  life. 

According  to  his  mother's  will,  the  poet  inherited  five 
thousand  livres,  and,  before  he  left  Paris,  his  father  had 
paid  him,  or  advanced  to  settle  his  debts,  about  a  thou- 
sand livres  of  this  amount.  During  the  next  few  years 
he  must  have  received  additional  sums ;  for  in  April, 
1651,  he  gave  his  father  a  written  acknowledgment  for 
the  receipt  of  nineteen  hundred  and  sixty-five  livres,  all 
told;  while  between  1660  and  1664  Poquelin  senior 
advanced  his  son  various  sums  aggregating  fifteen  hun- 
dred and  twelve  livres  seven  sous,  which  Moliere  de- 
clared upon  his  father's  death  were  not  a  debt  to  the 
estate.  When  all  these  various  amounts  are  taken  into 
account,  it  is  apparent,  according  to  M.  Eudore  Soulie,1 
Rechercbes  sur  Moliere. 

21 


322  MOLI£RE 

that  there  was  an  unpaid  balance  from  his  mother's 
estate  due  Moliere,  at  the  time  of  his  father's  death,  of 
more  than  fifteen  hundred  livres ;  and  in  view  of  this 
state  of  affairs  the  poet's  generosity  toward  his  father 
appears  exceedingly  meritorious,  for,  although  Jean 
Poquelin  senior  was  apparently  his  debtor,  Moliere 
loaned  the  upholsterer  in  1668  the  sum  of  ten  thousand 
livres,  without  interest,  for  the  purpose  of  repairing 
the  parental  house  in  the  arcades  of  the  market-place. 
Moreover,  to  hide  his  identity  as  benefactor,  he  made 
use  of  the  name  of  his  friend  Jacques  Rohault  the  phi- 
losopher,—  a  fact  made  apparent  only  after  Moliere's 
death  by  his  widow's  discovery  of  the  papers  in  the  case. 

Jean  Poquelin  senior  died  February  twenty-fifth, 
1669,  at  the  age  of  seventy-three,  leaving  a  number  of 
debts  for  his  son  to  pay ;  and  M.  Soulie  maintains  that 
during  the  last  years  of  his  life  he  was  "  a  morose  old 
man,  and  somewhat  of  a  miser,"  who  "  rejected  the 
offers  of  help  his  son  doubtless  made  him  on  several 
occasions  until  Moliere  was  forced  finally  to  hide  his 
identity  when  coming  to  his  father's  assistance."  This 
loan  to  Jean  Poquelin  senior  is  not  the  only  recorded 
instance  of  Moliere's  liberality,  for  Grimarest  tells  a 
story  in  which  his  bountifulness  is  made  even  more 
apparent. 

It  appears  that  an  actor  named  Mondorge,  whom  the 
poet  had  known  in  his  "  barn  storming"  days,  had  fallen 
into  penury.  Young  Baron,  restored  in  1670  to  his 
benefactor's  good  graces,  was  staying  at  Auteuil  when 
this  indigent  comedian  appeared  to  seek  Moliere's  as- 
sistance. Touched  by  the  man's  story  of  misfortune, 
he  volunteered  to  act  as  intermediary. 

"  It  is  true,"  said    Moliere,  when  he  had  heard  his 


MOLIERE   AND   HIS   FRIENDS        323 

friend's  account  of  Mondorge's  ill  luck,  "  that  we  once 
played  comedy  together.  He  is  a  most  worthy  man, 
and  I  am  sorry  his  affairs  are  in  such  a  state.  How 
much  do  you  think  I  ought  to  give  him  ?  " 

Baron,  considering  four  pistoles  sufficient  to  enable 
Mondorge  to  join  a  travelling  company,  finally  suggested 
that  sum,  whereupon  Moliere  replied  : 

"Very  well,  I  shall  give  him  four  pistoles  for  my 
part,  since  you  consider  it  sufficient,  but  here  are  twenty 
more  I  shall  add  for  you,  in  order  that  he  may  realise 
he  is  indebted  to  you  for  the  service  I  have  rendered 
him.  I  also  have  a  theatrical  costume  I  no  longer  need. 
Give  it  him  —  the  poor  man  may  find  it  useful  in  his 
profession." 

This  costume,  it  appears,  was  "almost  new  and  had 
cost  Moliere  twenty-five  hundred  livres,"  while  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  received  his  poverty  stricken  comrade 
was  in  keeping  with  this  generosity ;  for,  once  more  to 
quote  Grimarest,  "  he  seasoned  the  present  with  the 
good  welcome  he  gave  Mondorge."1 

Another  anecdote  characteristic  of  Moliere's  generous 
nature  is  told  by  the  same  writer.  An  honest  beggar,  it 
appears,  returned  a  gold  piece  the  poet  had  given  him 
by  mistake.  "  Keep  it,  my  friend,"  Moliere  replied, 
"  and  here  is  another "  ;  the  open-handed  giver  adding 
philosophically,  "  where  will  Virtue  next  hide  herself? "  2 

Among  the  few  detached  poems  left  by  Moliere  are 
two  animated  by  friendship.  One,  a  eulogy  called  The 
Glory  of  the  Val-de-Grace  (La  Gloire  du  Val-de-Grace\ 
was  inspired  by  a  fresco  depicting  the  glory  of  the 

1  As  Baron,  Grimarest' s  informant,  figures  in  this  story,  its  trust- 
worthiness need  not  be  seriously  questioned. 

8  Anonjmiana,  ou  Melanges  de  poesies,  <T eloquence,  et  d9  erudition. 


324  MOLIERE 

Blessed,  painted  by  Pierre  Mignard,  to  adorn  the  church 
of  Val-de-Grace  which  Anne  of  Austria  had  erected  in 
the  rue  St.  Jacques;  the  other  was  a  sonnet  written  to 
console  La  Mothe  le  Vayer  for  the  loss  of  his  son. 

The  reader  will  recall  the  painter  whose  work  inspired 
the  longer  of  these  poems  as  the  dramatist's  friend  in  the 
days  when  he  toured  the  provinces.  Although  twelve 
years  his  senior,  Mignard  was  Moliere's  life  long  con- 
fidant, and  an  intimate  of  the  Bejarts  as  well ;  for  he 
witnessed  Genevieve's  ;marriage  contract,  while  Made- 
leine chose  him  as  an  executor  for  her  estate.  A  book 
published  in  1700  speaks  of  Moliere  as  having  "written 
The  Glory  of  the  Val-de-Grace  in  favour  of  Monsieur 
Mignard  whose  daughter  he  loved " ;  but  this  young 
person  was  only  sixteen  when  Moliere  died,  and  prob- 
ably not  more  than  eleven  at  the  time  his  poem  was 
composed,  so  it  is  needless  to  see  in  the  poet's  supposed 
affection  for  her  another  amour.  Moliere,  however,  fer- 
vently pleaded  her  father's  cause  with  Colbert,  to  whom 
the  painter  was  then  persona  non  grata^  and  his  apotheosis 
of  Mignard's  fresco  is  so  laudatory  that  he  has  frequently 
been  reproached  for  extravagantly  commending  a  medi- 
ocre work  of  art ;  yet  Boileau  was  equally  excessive  in  his 
tribute  to  Moliere's  verses  in  saying  that  — 

Of  all  his  works  the  poem  he  wrote  in  praise  of  his 
friend  the  famous  Mignard  is  the  most  regular  and  sus- 
tained in  its  versification.  .  .  .  This  poem  .  .  .  might  pass 
for  a  complete  treatise  on  painting,  for  the  author  has 
made  all  the  rules  of  that  admirable  art  appear  in  it.1 

Moliere's  verses  are  well  turned  and  graceful,  it  is  true, 
yet  the  modern  critic  will  be  inclined  to  find  these  words 

1  Recreations  litter  air  es  by  Cizeron  Rival. 


MOLIERE   AND    HIS   FRIENDS        325 

of  praise  quite  as  excessive  as  the  apotheosis  they  extol. 
As  an  evidence,  however,  of  the  warmth  and  sincerity  of 
Moliere's  friendship  for  Mignard,  The  Glory  of  the  Val- 
de-Grace  is  worthy  of  sincere  commendation  ;  and  the 
same  may  be  said  of  the  sonnet  inscribed  to  La  Mothe 
le  Vayer. 

This  sceptic  and  philosopher  was  Moliere's  senior  by 
some  thirty-four  years ;  the  son  whose  death  inspired  his 
pathetic  lines,  a  churchman  and  writer  of  nearly  his  own 
age  ;  and  although  his  friendship  for  the  father  must  have 
been  rather  in  the  nature  of  veneration,  there  is  a  tragic 
note  in  his  poem  which  is  almost  prophetic ;  for  only  a 
few  weeks  later  the  man  who  so  touchingly  expressed 
paternal  grief  lost  his  own  first  born.  This  occurred  in 
1664,  long  before  the  quarrel  with  his  wife  and  his  retire- 
ment to  Auteuil;  but  the  affecting  sonnet  to  La  Mothe 
le  Vayer,  written  before  death  and  domestic  misery  had 
saddened  his  own  life,  shows  that  he  possessed  "  the 
noble  heart  and  beautiful  mind"  he  attributes  to  his 
friend's  dead  son. 

In  1667,  at  the  time  of  his  retirement  to  Auteuil,  Mo- 
liere  became  so  ill  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  the  stage 
for  two  months;  but  the  quiet  of  a  suburban  village  so 
restored  his  health  that  soon  he  was  able  to  interfere  in  a 
quarrel  wherein  a  choleric  gardener  was  endeavouring  to 
break  the  head  of  his  master's  son-in-law.  Aided  by  his 
friends,  the  contumacious  menial  was  locked  in  Moliere's 
own  room  by  the  poet,  whereupon  the  affair  was  made  a 
case  at  law,  Moliere's  name  appearing,  together  with  the 
details  of  the  rumpus,  in  a  Jurisdiction  seigneuriale,  dated 
August  twenty-first  and  twenty-second,  i66j.1 

1  Les  Points  obscurs  de  la  vie  de  Moliere  by  Jules  Loiseleur.  Piece 
justificative  communicated  by  M.  Parent  de  Rosan. 


326  MOLIERE 

The  apartment  Moliere  rented  in  the  Sieur  de  Beaufort's 
house  at  Auteuil  for  four  hundred  livres  a  year  was,  ac- 
cording to  M.  Loiseleur,1  "extremely  simple."  Situated 
on  the  ground  floor,  it  comprised  a  kitchen,  a  dining- 
room,  and  a  bedroom,  together  with  two  attic  rooms  on 
the  second  floor.  Moliere  possessed  the  right  of  "  walk- 
ing in  the  park,"  while  for  twenty  ecus  a  year  additional 
rent  he  secured  a  bedroom  in  which  to  lodge  his  friends. 
In  these  modest  quarters  the  poet  dwelt  during  the  years 
he  remained  separated  from  his  wife,  being  visited  from 
time  to  time  by  his  many  intimates,  among  whom  remains 
to  be  mentioned  Bernier,  a  former  schoolmate  who  paid  V 
him  a  visit  at  Auteuil  after  returning  from  a  long  sojourn 
in  the  dominions  of  the  Great  Mogul. 

The  poet's  household  was  in  keeping  with  the  modesty 
of  his  apartments.  At  the  time  of  his  death  he  was 
served  by  three  domestics,  —  a  cook,  Renee  Vannier, 
known  as  La  Forest,  Catherine  Lemoyne,  a  housemaid, 
and  Proven9al,  a  manservant.  The  name  of  Moliere's 
cook  apparently  remained  a  fixture,  for  one  Louise 
Lefebvre,  called  La  Forest,  died  in  1668,  while  Renee 
Vannier,  her  successor,  received  the  same  sobriquet. 

One  of  these  geniuses  of  the  spit  is  the  La  Forest  to 
whom  Moliere  is  reputed  to  have  read  his  comedies  with 
the  assurance  that  her  verdict  would  be  sustained  by  the 
"gallery  gods."  Brossette,  in  recounting  the  anecdote, 
adds  that  "  she  had  sufficient  literary  acumen  not  to  con- 
found Brecourt's  work  with  Moliere's,"  while,  according 
to  Grimarest,  she  accompanied  her  master  to  the  theatre 
and  evidently  performed  some  trifling  services  there,  for 
La  Grange  records  a  payment  to  her  of  three  livres. 
Her  laughter,  too,  welled  heartily  on  the  occasion  when 
1  Les  Points  obscurs  de  la  vie  de  Moliere. 


MOLIERE  AND   HIS   FRIENDS        327 

the  dramatist,  acting  the  part  of  Sancho  Panza,  was  forced 
by  the  perversity  of  the  ass  upon  which  he  was  mounted 
to  make  his  entrance  before  his  cue.  Indeed,  La  Forest 
must  have  served  as  a  model  for  Moliere's  pert  servant 
characters,  such  as  Dorine  in  The  Hypocrite  and  Toinette 
in  The  Imaginary  Invalid. 

Grimarest  states  that  the  valet  Proven9al  once  received 
a  kick  from  his  master  after  having  put  on  a  stocking 
wrong  side  out,  this  writer  adding  that  Moliere  "was  the 
most  exacting  man  in  the  world  in  the  matter  of  being 
served,"  since  "a  window  opened  or  closed  a  moment 
before  he  had  ordered  it  threw  him  into  a  convulsion," 
all  of  which  proves  that  his  nerves  were  easily  excited, — 
a  characteristic  of  most  great  artists.  As  Proven9al  is 
reputed  to  have  used  a  translation  Moliere  had  made  of 
Lucretius  as  curling  papers  for  his  master's  wig,  the  kick 
seems  amply  justified.1  Indeed,  much  in  the  way  of 
irritability  may  be  pardoned  a  man  of  Moliere's  nfany 
occupations,  for  no  one  filling  the  varied  roles  of  actor, 
manager,  and  play  writer  could  long  maintain  an  equable 
temper.  In  answer  to  reproaches  made  by  Chapelle 
upon  his  preoccupation,  these  heartfelt  words  are  put 
into  the  poet's  mouth  by  Grimarest : 

Ah,  my  dear  sir,  you  are  really  amusing.  For  you 
it  is  easy  to  devise  this  mode  of  life.  You  are  isolated 
from  everything;  so  you  can,  if  you  wish,  think  a  fort- 
night over  one  witticism,  without  any  one  troubling  you, 
and  then  go,  well  warmed  with  wine,  to  tell  it  everywhere 

1  M.  Monval  in  Lettres  au  Mercure  sur  Moliere  quotes  Tralage  as 
saying  that  this  manuscript  was  offered  to  a  publisher  by  the  poet's 
widow,  who  refused  it  on  the  ground  that  it  was  "too  much  opposed  to 
the  immortality  of  the  soul."  If  this  be  so,  it  could  not  have  been  burnt 
by  the  valet. 


328  MOLIERE 

at  the  expense  of  your  friends,  for  you  have  nothing  else 
to  do.  But  if,  like  me,  you  were  busy  striving  to  please 
the  King ;  if  you  had  forty  or  fifty  unreasonable  people 
to  support  and  direct,  a  theatre  to  maintain,  and  plays  to 
write  in  order  to  ensure  your  reputation,  on  my  word, 
you  would  not  think  of  laughing,  nor  would  you  pay  so 
much  attention  to  your  witticisms  and  jests,  which,  believe 
me,  do  not  hinder  you  from  making  many  enemies. 

Moliere  was  a  dreamer  who  cared  little  for  society, — 
"a  contemplator,"  as  Boileau  called  him,  who  preferred 
the  companionship  of  a  few  intimates  to  the  attentions  of 
the  many.  Those  whom  he  esteemed  remained  attached 
to  him  through  life ;  for  he  who  defined  friendship  with 
such  conviction  in  The  Misanthrope  counted  among  his 
associates  the  most  brilliant  men  and  women  of  his  day, 
-such  as  the  great  Conde,  the  Marechal  de  Vivonne, 
Madame  de  la  Sabliere,  and  Ninon  de  Lenclos,  whom 
Moliere  considered  "  the  person  of  the  great  world  upon 
whom  humour  made  the  quickest  impression."  He 
repaid  all  the  dinners  he  received,  but  his  function  in 
society  was  apparently  to  observe ;  for  De  Vize,  in  his 
comedy  of  Zelinde^  makes  a  shopkeeper  say  of  him  : 

Elomire  did  not  speak  a  word.  I  found  him  lean- 
ing on  my  counter  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  who  dreams. 
His  eyes  were  glued  upon  two  or  three  persons  of  quality 
who  were  bargaining  for  laces,  and  he  appeared  attentive 
to  their  conversation ;  for  the  movement  of  his  eyes  in- 
dicated that  he  was  searching  the  depths  of  their  souls 
for  the  things  they  did  not  say  :  I  believe,  however,  he 
had  a  memorandum  book  and  that,  hidden  by  his  cloak, 
he  wrote  down,  unseen,  the  most  pertinent  things  they 
said. 

During  the  visits  paid  by  his  troupe  to  the  houses 
of  great  nobles,  Moliere  studied  the  manners  and  ways 


MOLIERE   AND    HIS   FRIENDS        329 

of  the  company  he  entertained,  but,  as  M.  Larroumet 
exclaims  :  "  That  did  not  suffice.  He  must  know  his 
models  in  a  more  friendly  and  freer  way;  so  he  accepted 
their  invitations/' 

The  author  of  Zelinde  makes  one  of  his  characters  in- 
vite Moliere  to  meet  "three  or  four  sorry  jesters,"  with 
the  assurance  that  he  "will  not  leave  without  the  ma- 
terial for  three  or  four  comedies."  Indeed  Moliere's 
habitual  attitude  in  society  was  that  of  an  observer,  —  a 
quality  early  made  apparent  by  the  stories  told  of  his 
doings  in  Maitre  Gely's  barber-shop  at  Pezenas.  In 
tfhe  Criticism  of  'The  School  for  Wives  he  paints  this  pen 
picture  of  his  own  social  diffidence : 

You  know  the  man  and  his  natural  laziness  in  sus- 
taining a  conversation.  Celimene  invited  him  to  supper 
as  a  fine  wit,  yet  never  did  he  appear  so  embarrassed  and 
stupid  as  among  a  dozen  persons  to  whom  she  had  lauded 
him  and  who  stared  at  him  as  one  who  could  not  have 
been  made  of  the  same  clay  as  themselves.  They  all 
thought  he  was  there  to  regale  the  company  with  witti- 
cisms ;  that  each  word  falling  from  his  lips  must  be  un- 
usual ;  that  he  ought  to  compose  an  impromptu  upon 
everything  said,  and  never  ask  for  a  drink  except 
with  an  epigram ;  but  he  deceived  them  cruelly  with  his 
silence. 

Moliere  was  too  sincere  to  pose.  Only  to  such  life 
long  friends  as  Chapelle,  Mignard,  Rohault,  and  Boileau 
did  he  unburden  his  heart.  Once  more  to  quote  M. 
Larroumet,  "In  his  treatment  of  his  enemies,  his  rivals, 
his  patrons,  the  men  of  rank,  the  King,  we  see  a  man 
honest  and  upright,  yet  compliant  and  cautious,"  —  a 
man  of  the  world,  in  short,  skilfully  using  his  knowledge 

1  La  Com'edie  de  Moliere. 


330  MOLIERE 

of  human  nature  to  win  success  in  his  chosen  career,  — 
a  man  too  relentless  in  his  hatred  of  imposture  to  tem- 
porise with  hypocrites,  too  sincere  to  play  the  courtier, 
save  as  a  means  to  gather  material  for  his  "  ridiculous 
likenesses."  For  his  morality  and  his  views  of  life,  one 
must  turn  to  his  plays.  His  subjective  writings  have 
already  been  dwelt  upon,  and  he  has  been  viewed  as 
courtier  and  poet  militant.  In  the  comedies  now  to  be 
considered  he  wrote  objectively  from  material  he  had 
collected  while  playing  the  silent  part  of  contemplator. 


THE   HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  331 


XVII 
THE   HISTRIONIC   PLAYS 

IF  a  literary  play  is  one  in  which  the  quality  of  the 
dialogue  transcends  the  human  interest  of  the  story,  a 
histrionic  play  is  one  befitting  the  stage,  or,  in  the  par- 
lance of  the  dramatic  profession,  "a  good  acting  piece." 
With  rare  exceptions,  Moliere's  comedies  are  histrionic ; 
hence  the  use  of  this  word  as  a  specific  term  demands 
some  explanation. 

Although  slavishly  transalpine  in  The  Elunderer,  it  will 
be  remembered  that  Moliere  became  truly  Gallic  in  Les 
Precieuses  ridicules  and  militant  in  The  Hypocrite ;  while, 
from  time  to  time,  as  a  courtier's  stratagem  to  win  the 
King's  regard,  he  brought  forth  various  trifling  skits 
upon  society.  The  comedies  of  his  later  years,  however, 
neither  militant  nor  obsequious  in  tone,  abound  in  life- 
like characters  and  amusing  situations.  Penned  at  a 
time  when  Moliere  had  exhausted  his  enthusiasm  in 
futile  attacks  upon  the  vices  of  his  day,  these  plays, 
Gallic  in  quality,  Italian  or  even  classic  in  conception, 
depict  such  failings  as  avarice  and  social  ambition  in  a 
manner  intended  to  call  forth  laughter  rather  than  ill- 
will.  Essentially  eclectic  in  treatment,  they  are,  above 
all,  stage  plays,  conceived  primarily  to  amuse  an  audi- 
ence. With  the  exception  of  Les  Precieuses  ridicules, 
The  Hypocrite,  T'he  Misanthrope,  and  two  of  the  militant 
satires  directed  against  medicine,  they  are,  of  all  Moliere's 


332  MOLIERE 

pieces,  those  most  frequently  seen  to-day  upon  the  French 
stage ;  therefore  the  word  "  histrionic  "  is  no  misnomer. 

Were  it  not  for  their  perennial  ability  to  hold  an 
audience,  the  majority  of  these  histrionic  comedies  might 
readily  be  classed  among  the  Gallic  plays.  'The  Miser, 
for  instance,  and  The  Burgher,  a  Gentleman,  are  certainly 
as  national  in  tone  as  Sganarelle,  yet,  being  penned  during 
the  later  years  of  Moliere's  life,  they  are  so  thoroughly 
marked  by  the  sure  touch  of  a  master  craftsman  that  the 
term  "  histrionic  "  seems  more  fitting  to  distinguish  this, 
the  period  when  Moliere,  worldly  wise,  experienced  as  a 
manager,  and  less  zealous  as  a  crusader,  was  content  to 
write  plays  well  calculated  to  fill  the  coffers  of  his 
theatre. 

In  other  words,  the  histrionic  comedies  are  the  work 
of  a  mature  man  glad  to  exchange  a  battered  lance  for  a 
keen-pointed  rapier,  —  a  man,  in  short,  who  had  learned 
the  futility  of  tilting  at  windmills.  His  genius  had  not 
waned,  but  his  zeal  was  tempered  by  experience.  Only 
against  the  doctors  did  he  ride  in  battle  array,  and  even 
then  in  a  way  so  half-hearted  that  death  itself  seemed  no 
longer  an  enemy,  but  a  friend  he  wished  to  meet. 

No  Tartuffe  nor  Alceste  graces  this  histrionic  period, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  Don  Garcia  of 
Navarre.  Chronologically  such  comedy  ballets  as  The 
Magnificent  Lovers  and  Psyche  belong  to  it,  but  these 
are  essentially  court  plays  ;  moreover,  the  King  suggested 
the  topic  for  the  one,  while  both  Quinault  and  Corneille 
collaborated  with  Moliere  upon  the  other;  so  our  poet 
is  scarcely  responsible  for  their  failure  to  hold  a  modern 
audience.  Moliere's  medical  satires,  too,  though  mili- 
tant in  tone,  are  so  histrionic  in  treatment  that  they  might 
readily  be  classed  among  the  comedies  of  the  later  period 


THE    HISTRIONIC    PLAYS  333 

The  first  play,  however,  to  be  considered,  principally 
from  the  stage  point  of  view,  is  Amphitryon^  a  three-act 
comedy  in  verse  based  upon  Plautus's  Amphitruo.  The 
Latin  farce  upon  which  Moliere's  play  founds  itself  is  a 
ludicrous  recountal  of  the  visit  of  Jupiter  to  Alcmene  in 
the  guise  of  her  lover  Amphitryon.  Moliere's  version 
is  less  vulgar  in  treatment  and  far  better  in  construction 
than  its  model ;  yet  palpably  an  imitation  and  dealing 
with  a  mythical  subject,  it  affords  a  poor  example  of  the 
author's  surpassing  gift  of  truthful  portraiture. 

The  characters  are  Greek  gods  and  fabulous  mortals, 
but  even  when  painting  these  mythological  beings 
Moliere  could  not  entirely  stifle  his  love  of  truth.  Am- 
phitryon's servant  Sosie,  and  the  latter's  wife,  Cleanthis, 
are  quite  as  much  of  the  soil  of  France  as  Sganarelle,  the 
doctor  in  spite  of  himself,  and  Martine,  his  helpmate. 
From  the  modern  point  of  view,  Amphitryon  would  make 
a  better  opera  bouffe  than  comedy;  but  Moliere,  like 
Plautus,  wrote  for  the  taste  of  his  time,  and,  to  quote 
Bayle,  "there  are  subtleties  and  pranks  in  his  Amphitryon 
which  far  surpass  the  raillery  of  its  Latin  prototype." 
This  writer  places  Amphitryon  among  Moliere 's  best 
plays,1  —  a  judgment  modern  critics  will  be  likely  to 
challenge;  still,  though  the  subject  is  mythological  and 
borrowed  from  a  classic  source,  the  play  is  a  pleasing 
phantasy  which  conserves  the  wit  of  Latin  comedy  while 
charming  by  the  luxuriance  and  gaiety  of  its  language. 

The  sparkling  quality  of  Amphitryon  is  enhanced  by 
the  varied  metre  of  its  verses.  Here,  for  the  first  time, 
Moliere  discards  the  iambic  hexameters  of  French 
dramatic  poetry  for  vers  libres,  or  lines  of  unequal  meas- 
ure, while  the  stately  couplet  gives  place  to  a  varied 

1   Dictionnaire  bistorique  et  critique,  1697. 


334  MOLIERE 

rhyme  scheme.  Had  this  freedom  from  classic  despot- 
ism been  declared  in  The  Hypocrite  or  The  Misanthrope, 
Moliere  would  merit  scant  approval  for  his  temerity ; 
but  in  Amphitryon,  a  phantasy  resembling  in  many  ways 
the  ballet  interludes  which  had  graced  his  previous  com- 
edies, this  assertion  of  poetic  license  passes  for  de- 
lightful bravado. 

The  French  Alexandrine,  gliding  upon  its  classic  course 
like  a  mighty  river  of  harmony,  possesses  a  rhythmical 
grandeur  with  which  no  dramatic  verse,  except  the  Greek, 
can  vie.  In  the  use  of  this  superb  measure,  so  Latin  in 
spirit  that  in  English  its  majestic  rhythm  becomes  mere 
resonance,  Moliere  is  inferior  to  Racine,  not  only  because 
comedy  lends  itself  less  easily  than  tragedy  to  a  metre  so 
melodious,  but  because  his  sparkling  genius  demanded 
a  form  of  expression  at  once  crisp  and  succinct ;  even 
in  his  versified  plays  his  characters  speak  the  ordinary 
language  of  man. 

In  such  comedies  as  The  Misanthrope,  high  thoughts 
are  embodied  and  pure  emotions  are  rhythmically  ex- 
pressed ;  but  imagery  is  almost  entirely  lacking.  Moliere, 
chafing  in  poetic  harness,  longed  for  a  more  laconic  me- 
dium with  which  to  colour  his  truthful  portraits  of 
mankind.  Until  his  day  verse  had  been  the  sole  form 
permissible  for  both  tragedy  and  comedy,  yet  defying 
the  canons  of  French  dramatic  art,  he  forsook  the 
rhythmical  form  of  expression  so  frequently,  that  of  his 
thirty-three  existing  plays  only  fourteen  are  in  verse. 
Moliere  was  a  master  of  metrical  technic,  but  his  thoughts 
came  freely  and  directly  without  the  circumlocutory 
metaphors  and  similes  which  constitute  poetic  imagery. 
Only  in  this  failure  to  embellish  his  noblest  sentiments 
with  vivid  figures  of  speech  is  he  inferior  to  Shake- 


THE   HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  335 

speare  in  the  province  of  comedy.     In  fecundity,  as  M. 

Coquelin  has  so  happily  said,  he  is  the  great  English- 

i    man's  equal;  in  veracity,  his  superior.     Moliere  was  a 

\  naturalist ;  his  genius  lay,  above  all  else,  in  telling  the 

1  plain  truth  about  mankind,  —  prose  was  its  normal  ve- 

\hicle.     As  a  poet  he  has  been  surpassed,  but  never  as  a 

writer  of  concise,  vigorous,  and  truthful  prose  dialogue,  — 

a  dialogue  so  expressive  of  human  thoughts  and  human 

emotions  that  his  characters  are  still  as  lifelike  as  on  the 

day  they  were  drawn. 

The  verses  of  Amphitryon  which  inspired  this  digres- 
sion are  at  once  so  delicate  and  spirited  that  to  many  an 
Anglo-Saxon  their  free  measure  will  appear  a  far  more 
suitable  form  for  comedy  than  the  classic  metre,  —  that  is 
to  say,  for  comedy  in  a  light  vein.  However,  Moliere 
demonstrated  a  true  poetic  insight  by  writing  The  Hypo- 
crite and  The  Misanthrope  in  Alexandrines.  In  such 
stately  comedies  vers  libres  would  have  been  out  of 
harmony.  : 

Amphitryon  was  first  played  at  the  Palais  Royal  on 
January  thirteenth,  1668,  and  Roederer1  sees  in  Jupiter's 
replacement  of  Amphitryon  as  Alcmene's  husband  a 
travesty  upon  Monsieur  de  Montespan,  who  at  the 
time  was  indulging  in  outbursts  of  jealous  rage  against 
his  monarch  for  estranging  his  wife's  affections.  It  is 
difficult  to  believe,  however,  that  Moliere  was  authorised 
by  Louis  to  speak  ex  cathedra  upon  so  delicate  a  matter, 
the  more  so,  because,  according  to  M.  Mesnard,  the 
details  of  the  Montespan  affair  were  then  only  whispered 
at  court. 

When  Moliere  next  wrote,  he  wisely  forsook  verse  and 
Olympian  characters  for  prose  and  the  every-day  people 
1  Memoir e  pour  servir  a  I*  bistoire  de  la  societe  polie  en  France. 


33*  MOLlkRE 

he  painted  so  inimitably.  Never  has  he  shown  a  more 
certain  grasp  of  stage  requirements  than  in  George  Dandin ; 
ory  The  Abashed  Husband  (George  Dandin  ou  le  Mqri 
confondu)  —  a  comedy  so  swift  in  action,  so  clever  in 
situation,  and  so  terse  in  dialogue  that  it  might  justly 
serve  as  a  model  for  all  modern  writers  of  stage  humour. 
In  its  story  of  the  successful  efforts  of  an  unfaithful  wife 
to  hoodwink  her  husband,  vice  rather  than  virtue  is  tri- 
umphant; yet  it  teaches  a  moral  lesson  nevertheless. 

George  Dandin,  the  duped  husband,  is  a  rich  peasant^ 
proprietor,  who  has  been  inspired  by  a  reverence  for  rank 
to  marry  Angelique,  the  daughter  of  an  impecunious 
nobleman.  His  marital  troubles  are  due  to  his  wife's 
contempt  for  a  husband  beneath  her  in  birth,  —  a  con- 
tempt shared  by  her  parents.  Because  a  distasteful 
marriage  with  a  man  inferior  to  her  in  both  birth  and 
intellect  has  so  dulled  her  moral  nature  that  she  can  see 
no  possible  deliverance  from  her  hateful  thrall  save  in 
transgression,  Angelique  gives  her  heart  to  a  man  of 
her  own  caste  and  tricks  her  dull  helpmate  without 
compunction. 

Vice  is  made  to  triumph  in  the  person  of  this  wife,  in 
order  that  Moliere  may  point  the  moral  that  a  man  who 
marries  above  his  station  is  a  fool  worthy  only  of  con- 
tempt, —  a  truth  thus  made  apparent  by  poor  George 
Dandin  himself  in  the  opening  speech  of  the  play : 

A  wife  who  is  born  a  lady  is  a  strange  creature  !  and 
what  a  speaking  lesson  my  marriage  is  to  every  peasant 
who  tries  to  better  his  place  in  the  world  by  tying  him- 
self, like  me,  to  a  nobleman's  family.  Nobility  is  well 
enough,  and  certainly  worth  respecting,  but  the  things 
that  go  with  it  are  so  bad  that  I  wish  I  had  never  rubbed 
against  it.  To  my  cost,  I  've  grown  wise  on  that  score, 


THE    HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  337 

and  now  know  the  ways  of  the  nobility  when  they  wish 
to  make  us  enter  their  families.  We  don't  count  in  the 
bargain  ;  it  is  what  we  have  that  they  marry ;  and,  rich 
as  I  am,  I  should  have  done  far  better  to  have  married 
like  a  good  honest  peasant  than  to  have  taken  a  wife  who 
holds  herself  better  than  I  am,  feels  ashamed  to  bear  my 
name,  and  thinks  that,  with  all  my  money,  I  have  n't 
paid  dear  enough  for  the  honour  of  being  her  husband. 
George  Dandin  !  George  Dandin !  you  have  done  the 
most  foolish  thing  in  the  world.  .  .  . 

In  spite  of  his  wealth,  George  Dandin  is  of  the  soil. 
When  convinced  of  his  wife's  misconduct,  he  would  have 
beaten  her  had  she  been  a  peasant;  but,  overawed  by 
her  superior  birth,  he  contents  himself  with  mildly  de- 
nouncing her  behaviour  to  her  parents.  "  I  tell  you  I 
am  much  dissatisfied  with  my  marriage ! "  he  exclaims. 
u  What ! "  answers  his  nobly  born  mother-in-law,  cc  can 
you  speak  thus  of  a  marriage  from  which  you  have  de- 
rived such  great  advantages  ?  "  "  The  bargain  has  not 
been  a  bad  one  for  you,"  the  peasant  son-in-law  retorts, 
"  for  my  money  has  stopped  pretty  large  gaps  in  the 
run-down  state  of  your  affairs  ;  but  what  have  I  got  by 
it,  pray,  except  in  making  my  name  longer  ?  Instead 
of  being  George  Dandin,  I  have  gained,  through  you, 
the  title  of  Monsieur  de  la  Dandiniere." 

The  spirited  plot  of  this  play  is  too  intricate  to  be 
recounted  in  full.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  George,  Dandin 
is  continually  ^baffled  in  his  efforts  to  convince  his  wife's 
parents^ofjheir  daughter's  misconduct, jiintil^overhearing 
a  confession  of  love__made  by  her  to  a  young  nobleman 
named  Clitandre,  he  locks  his  door^ against  her,  only  to 
be  juped  by  ajruse  of  feigned  suicidg.  When  he  comes 
forth  in  his  night  shirt  with  a  lighted  candle  to  search 


22 


MOLIERE 

for  his  wife's  body,  she  slips  past  him  in  the  dark,  and, 
entering  the  house,  bolts  the  door.  Mistress  now  of 
the  situation,  Angelique  denounces  him  to  her  parents 
as  a  drunken  brute  who  has  maltreated  her ;  whereupon 
the  poor  man  is  forced  by  his  father-in-law  to  kneel  in 
his  unclad  state  and  beg  forgiveness  of  a  wife  whom  he 
knows  by  her  own  confession  to  be  false,  —  a  situation 
which  brings  the  comedy  to  a  close. 

Written  to  grace  a  Versailles  fete,  George  Dandin  was 
first  played  at  court  in  July,  1668,  but  in  construction 
as  well  as  in  characterisation  it  is  a  histrionic  masterpiece. 
Some  of  its  situations  occur  in  a  story  by  Boccaccio,  and 
were  used  by  Moliere  in  his  one-act  farce,  The  Jealousy 
of  Smutty  Face ;  yet  the  author's  masterly  portraiture  ac- 
quits him  of  the  charge  of  plagiarism.  George  Dandin 
is  so  true  to  life  that  he  must  have  been  a  patron  of 
Maitre  Gely's  barber  shop  at  Pezenas,  while  the  origi- 
nals of  the  Baron  and  Baroness  de  Sotenville,  his  parents- 
in-law,  were  doubtless  decayed  gentlefolks  of  the  Prince 
de  Conti's  court. 

The  tricks  Angelique  plays  upon  her  husband  are 
farcical,  yet  this  story  of  a  parvenu's  marriage  with  a 
woman  of  rank  is  so  thoroughly  human  that  this  play, 
although  absurd  in  plot,  is  nevertheless  a  comedy  of 
manners  of  our  own  as  well  as  of  Moliere's  day.  If  an 
impecunious  nobleman  marries  his  daughter  to  a  peasant 
proprietor,  or  his  son  to  an  American  heiress,  the  moral 
result  is  the  same ;  for,  whatever  temporary  pranks  love 
may  play  with  social  conditions,  marriage  will  not  level 
all  ranks,  nor  can  it  be  made  an  object  of  barter  without 
courting  consequences  such  as  befell  poor  George  Dandin 
in  his  marriage  of  convenience. 

Avarice,  "  the  good  old-gentlemanly  vice,"  as  Byron 


THE   HISTRIONIC    PLAYS  339 

calls  it,  is  the  text  of  Moliere's  next  dramatic  homily ; 
and  in  the  almost  tragic  fervour  of  his  words  this  same 
preacher  skirts  the  sublime  heights  he  attained  in  his  ser- 
mons against  hypocrisy  and  worldliness ;  for  'The  Miser 
(L'Avare),  a  prose  comedy  in  five  acts  with  cupidity  as 
its  theme,  ranks  next  in  point  of  earnestness  to  "The  Mis- 
anthrope and  'The  Hypocrite.  Being  serious  in  theme,  and 
from  a  comedy  point  of  view  pure  in  treatment,  it  takes 
perforce  a  high  place  among  its  author's  plays. 

The  plot  is  borrowed  mainly  from  the  Aulularia  of 
Plautus  ;  while,  for  the  various  incidents,  so  many  sources 
have  been  drawn  upon  that,  according  to  Riccoboni,  'The 
Miser  does  not  contain  four  original  scenes;1  yet  it  is 
idle  to  ask  who  has  depicted  these  before.  The  same 
models  have  been  used,  but  the  same  picture  has  never 
been  painted ;  for  although  the  details  are  borrowed, 
in  the  ensemble  Moliere's  sure  touch  is  ever  apparent. 
Indeed,  the  name  Harpagon  has  become  a  household 
word.  Moliere's  miser  is  a  man  whose  avarice  "sticks 
deeper,  grows  with  more  pernicious  root,  than  summer- 
seeming  lust,"  —  in  short,  a  lickpenny,  who,  in  the 
words  of  his  son's  valet,  is  "  of  all  mortals  the  hardest 
and  most  close-fisted  " ;  a  man  willing  to  bestow  "  praise, 
esteem,  kind  words,  and  friendship,  but  never  money." 

He  belongs  to  the  bourgeoisie,  —  a  class  whose  thrift 
when  carried  to  excess  becomes  the  vice  of  avarice.  He 
has  a  daughter,  Elise  by  name ,  and  a  son  who  borrows 
money  at  usurious  rates  from  Jewish  money-lenders. 
Valere,  a  young  man  who  has  introduced  himself  into 
the  household  in  the  capacity  of  steward,  is  in  love  with 
Elise ;  while  Cleante,  the  prodigal  son,  has  fallen  a 
victim  to  the  charms  of  Mariane,  a  penniless  young 
1  Observations  sur  la  comedie  et  sur  le  genie  de  Mo  Her  e,  1736. 


340  MOLIERE 

lady  of  the  neighbourhood.  Harpagon,  however,  up- 
sets the  plans  of  these  lovers  by  promising  Elise's  hand 
to  a  rich  man  named  Anselme  and  by  avowing  his  in- 
tention to  marry  Mariane  himself.  Few  stronger  themes 
for  a  dramatic  story  exist  than  the  rivalry  of  a  father  and 
son,  —  a  theme  developed  so  seriously  by  Moliere  in 
The  Miser  that  the  play  at  moments,  ceasing  to  be  a 
comedy,  becomes  a  drama;  as,  for  instance,  when 
Cleante,  learning  that,  besides  being  a  rival,  his  father  is 
the  usurer  who  is  lending  him  money  through  a  Jew  at 
exorbitant  interest  rates,  thus  tears  the  fifth  command- 
ment in  shreds : 

Do  you  not  blush  to  dishonour  your  station  by  the 
trade  you  are  engaged  in ;  to  sacrifice  glory  and  reputa- 
tion to  the  insatiable  desire  of  piling  crown  upon  crown, 
and  to  surpass,  in  matters  of  interest,  the  most  infamous 
tricks  that  ever  were  invented  by  the  most  notorious 
usurers  ?  .  .  .  Which,  think  you,  is  the  more  criminal, 
—  he  who  buys  money  of  which  he  is  in  need,  or  he 
who  steals  money  for  which  he  has  no  use  ? 

Undismayed  by  this  arraignment  and  regardless  of  his 
son's  passion,  Harpagon,  aided  by  a  femme  d'intrigue 
named  Frosine,  prepares  to  wed  Mariane  himself.  The 
scene  wherein  the  miser  instructs  his  household  regard- 
ing their  duties  at  the  betrothal  supper  is  by  far  the 
most  humorous  in  the  play : 

Come  here,  all  of  you,  and  let  me  give  you  your 
orders  for  this  evening  and  assign  to  each  his  task! 
Approach,  Dame  Claude  ;  I  '11  begin  with  you.  Good  ! 
I  see  you  bear  your  arms  [her  broom]  in  hand.  Your 
duty  will  be  to  make  everything  clean  and  tidy,  but  take 
especial  care  not  to  rub  the  furniture  too  hard  for  fear 
of  wearing  it  out.  Moreover,  I  appoint  you  during  the 


THE   HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  341 

supper  to  the  management  of  the  bottles,  and  if  one  is 
lost  or  anything  broken,  I  shall  look  to  you  for  it,  and 
shall  take  it  out  of  your  wages.  .  .  .  You,  Brindavoine, 
and  you,  La  Merluche,  are  to  rinse  the  glasses  and  serve 
out  the  wine,  but  only  when  any  of  the  company  are 
thirsty,  and  not  like  those  rascally  lackeys  who  go  and 
press  people  and  put  it  into  their  heads  to  drink  when 
they  don't  wish  to.  Wait  till  you  have  been  asked  more 
than  once,  —  and  always  remember  to  serve  plenty  of 
water. 

The  most  comical  character  in  the  play  is  Maitre 
Jacques,  a  factotum  playing  the  dual  role  of  cook  and 
coachman  in  Harpagon's  niggardly  household.  When- 
ever he  is  addressed  in  a  capacity  opposed  to  the  cos- 
tume he  is  wearing,  he  solemnly  changes  his  coachman's 
livery  for  a  cook's  smock,  or  vice  versa,  —  a  bit  of  by- 
play which  invariably  keeps  an  audience  in  roars  of 
laughter.  When  asked  by  his  master  for  the  world's 
opinion  of  him,  Maitre  Jacques  truthfully  paints  Har- 
pagon's character,  even  though  his  candour  costs  him  a 
thrashing : 

Sir,  since  you  will  have  it,  I  tell  you  frankly  that 
you  are  laughed  at  everywhere  ;  that  you  are  the  object 
of  hundreds  of  gibes  ;  for  people  are  never  so  happy  as 
when  putting  you  on  the  rack  and  telling  tales  of  your 
stinginess.  One  neighbour  says  you  have  private  alma- 
nacs printed,  in  which  you  double  the  ember-days  and 
vigils  in  order  to  profit  by  the  extra  fasts  your  house- 
hold must  observe  ;  another,  that  you  have  a  quarrel 
always  ready  to  pick  with  your  servants  at  "  boxing  " 
time,  or  when  they  are  leaving,  so  that  you  may  have  a 
pretext  for  giving  them  nothing.  One  man  says  that 
you  once  swore  out  a  warrant  against  a  neighbour's  cat 
for  having  eaten  the  scraps  of  a  leg  of  mutton ;  and  still 
another  that  you  were  caught  one  night  stealing  your 


342  MOLIERE 

own  horses'  oats,  and  that  your  coachman  —  my  prede- 
cessor—  gave  you  I  don't  know  how  many  blows,  in 
the  dark,  with  a  bludgeon,  about  which  you  never  ven- 
tured to  say  anything.  In  short,  —  shall  I  tell  you?  — 
I  can  go  nowhere  without  hearing  you  hauled  over  the 
coals.  You  are  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood, and  you  are  never  spoken  of  except  as  a 
miser,  an  extortioner,  and  a  niggardly  skinflint. 

Fearful  that  robbers  may  enter  his  house,  Harpagon 
buries  in  his  garden  a  casket  containing  ten  thousand 
livres,  and  when  his  son's  valet  discovers  its  hiding- 
place,  the  prodigal  purloins  this  treasure  as  a  means  for 
bringing  his  father  to  terms.  But  the  charm  of  this 
play  does  not  lie  in  its  somewhat  stilted  plot.  Harpa- 
gon is  the  personification  of  greed,  painted  by  a  master 
hand.  Take,  for  instance,  these  lines  spoken  when  he 
discovers  the  loss  of  his  buried  treasure,  —  a  speech 
fairly  Balzacian  in  its  sordid  frenzy  : 

Stop  thief!  stop  thief!  Hold  the  assassin  !  stop  the 
murderer  !  Justice,  great  Heaven  !  I  am  undone,  assas- 
sinated !  They  have  cut  my  throat !  They  've  stolen 
my  money  !  Who  can  have  done  it?  What  has  become 
of  him?  Where  is  he?  —  where  is  he  hiding?  What 
can  I  do  to  find  him  ?  Where  shall  I  run  ?  where  shall 
I  not  run?  Is  he  here?  Is  he  there?  Who  's  that? 
Stop  !  [He  clutches  himself  by  the  arm.]  Give  back 
my  money,  you  scoundrel!  —  It  is  myself!  my  mind  *s 
distraught — I  know  not  where  I  am,  nor  what  I  do. 
Alas !  my  poor  money !  my  poor  money !  my  dear 
friend  !  thou  hast  been  taken  from  me ;  and  since  thou 
art  gone,  I  have  lost  my  sole  support,  my  consolation, 
my  joy  ;  all  is  ended,  I  have  nothing  left  to  keep  me  in 
this  world.  Without  thee,  it  is  impossible  to  live.  All 
is  over  ;  I  have  no  more  strength  ;  I  am  dying ;  I  am 
dead ;  I  am  buried.  Will  no  one  raise  me  from  the  dead 


THE    HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  343 

by  giving  me  back  my  beloved  money,  or  by  telling  me 
who  has  taken  it?  Eh!  what's  that  you  say?  Nobody 
spoke.  There  's  no  one  here !  The  one  who  robbed 
me  must  have  carefully  spied  out  the  hour,  and  chosen 
the  very  time  when  I  was  talking  to  my  rascally  son. 
Come  —  I  will  seek  justice.  I  '11  have  my  whole  house 
put  upon  the  rack  —  maids,  valets,  son,  daughter  —  and 
myself.  I  see  them  all  assembled  there !  I  suspect 
them  all ;  each  looks  to  me  like  a  thief.  What  are  they 
talking  about  down  there  ?  About  the  thief  who  robbed 
me?  What  noise  is  that  up  there?  Is  it  my  thief? 
For  Heaven's  sake,  if  you  have  any  news  of  him,  tell 
me,  I  pray  you !  Is  he  hidden  there  amongst  you  ? 
They  all  stare  at  me  and  laugh.  You  will  see  that  they 
had  a  share  in  the  theft.  Quick,  policemen,  archers, 
provosts,  judges !  racks,  gallows,  and  hangmen  !  I  '11 
hang  the  whole  lot  of  them,  and  if  I  don't  recover  my 
money,  I  '11  then  hang  myself. 

Because  of  its  disregard  of  the  dramatic  canon  that  a 
play  in  five  acts  must  be  written  in  verse  —  a  contempt 
for  the  rules  Moliere  had  already  evinced  in  Don  Juan 
—  The  Misery  when  first  presented  on  the  stage  of  the 
Palais  Royal,  September  ninth,  I668,1  called  forth  con- 
siderable protest  from  contemporary  critics.  A  modern 
censor  will  feel  more  inclined,  however,  to  take  exception 
to  the  baseness  of  its  picture  of  a  man's  degraded  love  of 
wealth  and  a  son's  undutifulness  than  to  quibble  over 
Aristotelian  principles ;  for  commanding  as  is  the  realis- 
tic strength  of  this  play,  one  turns  with  a  certain  sense  of 
relief  from  Harpagon  the  miser  to  Monsieur  Jourdain 
the  socially  ambitious  tradesman,  whose  desire  to  pass 

1  Grimarest  places  the  first  production  in  January,  1668,  while  Vol- 
taire arbitrarily  selects  the  year  1667  ;  but  La  Grange  makes  no  mention 
of  The  Miser  until  Sunday,  September  ninth,  1668,  when  he  announces 
its  first  production  as  a  new  piece  (jtiece  nouvelle  de  M.  de  Moliere). 


344  MOLIERE 

the  portals  of  society  inspires  the  title  of  The  Burgher,  a 
Gentleman  (Le  Bourgeois  gentilhomme).  Here,  at  least, 
is  a  character  meriting  one's  sympathy,  —  a  character 
truer,  too,  than  its  predecessor  to  the  life  of  our  day, 
for  the  miser  of  Moliere's  time  has  become  a  Wall-Street 
magnate,  whereas  the  social  climber  is  found  wherever 
organised  society  exists. 

A  retired  shopkeeper,  ignorant  of  the  ways  of  the 
world,  Monsieur  Jourdain  resolves  to  bridge  the  gulf 
separating  him  from  the  nobly  born.  His  desire  to 
receive  social  recognition  is  an  obsession,  yet  his  endeav- 
ours to  acquire  fine  clothes  and  manners  are  so  compla- 
cent and  sincere  that,  laughable  though  he  be,  he  is, 
nevertheless,  a  genuine  human  being,  made  lovable  by 
his  beaming  simplicity. 

Finding  low  born  manners  a  bar  to  the  fulfilment  of 
his  ambition,  Monsieur  Jourdain,  much  to  the  disgust  of 
his  worthy  wife  and  outspoken  maid-of-all-work,  resolves 
to  educate  himself.  The  first  two  acts  are  devoted  to  his 
efforts  in  this  direction  as  well  as  to  the  quarrels  of  his 
various  professors  of  music,  dancing,  fencing,  and  phi- 
losophy for  ascendency  over  their  "  milch  cow,"  as  Ma- 
dame Jourdain  calls  her  lord ;  yet  the  only  tangible 
progress  Monsieur  Jourdain  makes  in  the  acquirement 
of  knowledge  is  to  learn  that  all  which  is  not  verse  is 
prose.  Discovering  to  his  great  delight  that  when  he 
asks  for  his  slippers  he  is  speaking  prose,  he  thus  com- 
municates this  knowledge  to  his  wife  : 

MONSIEUR  JOURDAIN 
Do  you  know  what  you  are  talking  at  this  moment  ? 

MADAME  JOURDAIN 

I  know  I  am  talking  good  sense,  and  that  you  ought  to  change 
your  manner  of  living. 


THE   HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  345 

MONSIEUR  JOURDAIN 

I  don't  mean  that.     I  mean,  do  you  know  what  the  words  are 
that  you  are  saying  ? 

MADAME  JOURDAIN 

They  are  sensible  words,  and  that 's  more  than  I  can  say  of 
your  conduct. 

MONSIEUR  JOURDAIN 

I  don't  mean  that.  I  ask  you,  what  I  am  now  saying  to  you 
at  the  present  moment,  what  is  it  ? 

MADAME  JOURDAIN 
Stuff  and  nonsense. 

MONSIEUR  JOURDAIN 
It 's  prose,  you  ignorant  woman  ! 

MADAME  JOURDAIN 
Prose  ? 

MONSIEUR  JOURDAIN 

Yes,  prose.  All  that  is  prose  is  not  verse,  and  all  that  is  not 
verse  is  prose.  There  !  That 's  what  one  learns  by  study. 

To  further  his  passion  for  entering  society,  Monsieur 
Jourdain  allows  himself  to  become  the  dupe  of  Dorante, 
an  unscrupulous  nobleman  whom  he  lends  vast  sums  of 
money,  even  permitting  him  the  use  of  his  house  for  the 
purpose  of  carrying  on  an  intrigue  with  a  marchioness 
named  Dorimene.  Assured  by  this  chevalier  d*  Industrie 
that  Dorimene  views  his  own  attentions  with  no  unfa- 
vourable eye,  Monsieur  Jourdain  lavishes  presents  upon 
her,  for  which  Dorante,  of  course,  takes  the  credit ;  and, 
having  induced  his  better  half  to  spend  an  evening  out, 
the  deluded  man  regales  the  noble  marchioness  with  a 
sumptuous  banquet,  brought  to  an  untimely  end  by  the 


346  MOLIERE 

appearance  of  Madame  Jourdain  in  the  role  of  outraged 
wife. 

The  love  plot  is  merely  accessary  to  Monsieur  Jour- 
dam's  ambitions,  but  it  serves  to  inspire  an  incident 
whereby  that  worthy  bourgeois's  obsession  is  made  the 
excuse  for  the  ballet  which  concludes  the  play.  Cleonte, 
an  estimable  young  man,  is  in  love  with  Monsieur  Jour- 
dain's  daughter  Lucile,1  and  when  he  demands  her  hand, 
her  father  asks  him  if  he  is  a  gentleman.  He  replies 
thus : 

Sir,  in  answering  that  question  most  people  show 
slight  hesitation ;  the  word  is  easily  spoken.  Little 
scruple  is  shown  in  the  assumption  of  that  name,  and 
present  custom  seems  to  authorise  the  theft ;  yet,  for  my 
part,  I  confess  my  feelings  on  this  point  are  a  little  more 
delicate.  I  maintain  that  all  imposture  is  unworthy  of 
an  honest  man,  and  that  it  is  cowardice  to  disguise  what 
Heaven  has  made,  and  deck  ourselves  for  the  eyes  of  the 
world  with  a  stolen  title,  or  to  wish  to  pass  for  what  one 
is  not.  I  am  born  of  parents  who  doubtless  have  rilled 
honourable  posts.  I  have  acquitted  myself  creditably  as 
a  soldier  by  six  years  of  service,  and  I  am  sufficiently 
well-to-do  to  maintain  a  middling  rank  in  society ;  yet 
notwithstanding  all  this,  I  shall  not  assume  a  name 
which  others  in  my  place  might  think  they  had  a  right 
to  bear ;  therefore  I  shall  tell  you  frankly  that  I  am  not 
a  gentleman. 

Many  a  modern  young  man  might  emulate  this  modesty 
with  credit  to  himself;  many  a  designing  mother,  too, 
might  well  study  the  homely  philosophy  which  Madame 
Jourdain  propounds  in  support  of  Cleonte's  suit : 

1  The  reader  will  recall  the  scene  between  Cleonte  and  his  valet 
Covielle,  quoted  on  page  151,  in  which  Cleonte,  picturing  the  charms  of 
his  lady-love,  in  reality  draws  a  portrait  of  Armande  Bejart,  who  played 
the  role  of  Lucile. 


THE    HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  347 

Alliances  with  people  above  one's  station  are  subject 
to  grievous  drawbacks.  I  wish  no  son-in-law  of  mine  to 
be  able  to  reproach  my  daughter  with  her  parents,  or  to 
have  children  ashamed  to  call  me  grandmother. 

Deaf,  however,  to  this  sound  reasoning,  Monsieur 
Jourdain  refuses  Cleonte  on  the  ground  that  he  is  not 
a  gentleman,  whereupon  Covielle,  the  discarded  lover's 
valet,  concocts  a  scheme  to  further  his  master's  cause. 
Disguised  as  an  emissary  of  the  son  of  the  Grand  Turk, 
as  the  Sultan  was  then  called,  Covielle  tells  Monsieur 
Jourdain  that  his  imperial  highness  has  conceived  an 
attachment  for  his  daughter,  Lucile,  and  that  in  order 
to  raise  him  to  a  rank  befitting  such  an  alliance,  he  has 
resolved  upon  making  him  a  Mamamouchi.  Cleonte 
appearing  disguised  as  a  Turk  and  accompanied  by  a 
band  of  mummers,  Monsieur  Jourdain  is  duly  invested 
with  the  imaginary  dignity  of  Mamamouchi  and  a  cos- 
tume befitting  his  rank.  When  let  into  the  secret  of  her 
husband's  crowning  folly,  Madame  Jourdain  consents  to 
the  union  of  her  daughter  with  the  Sultan's  fictitious 
heir,  while  Dorante,  who  has  used  his  middle  class  dupe 
for  the  purpose  of  winning  Dorimene,  is  rewarded  by 
that  lady's  hand. 

The  first  three  acts  of  this  delightful  play  are  in  the 
spirit  of  pure  comedy,  but  the  other  two  fall  to  the  level 
of  farce,  —  a  descent,  however,  for  which  Moliere  is 
blameless.  The  advent  in  Paris  of  a  Turkish  ambas- 
sador had  created  such  a  sensation  at  court  that  upon 
his  departure  the  King  commanded  Moliere  to  write  a 
comedy1  introducing  a  Turkish  ballet,  for  which  Lully  was 

1  According  to  Bruzen  de  la  Martiniere,  Colbert  suggested  to  the  King 
the  subject  of  a  Turkish  farce  for  the  purpose  of  ridiculing  the  disdainful 
Turkish  envoy. 


348  MOLIERE 

ordered  to  compose  the  music,  and  a  certain  Chevalier 
d'Arvieux,  who  had  spent  some  time  in  the  Orient,  to 
provide  local  colour. 

When  played  before  Louis  at  Chambord  in  October, 
1670,  'The  Burgher,  a  Gentleman  was,  according  to  Gri- 
marest,  "  a  failure  "  ;  for  "  the  King  said  nothing  about 
it  at  supper,  and  the  courtiers  tore  it  to  pieces,"  with  the 
result  that  "  the  mortified  author  took  to  his  room  for  a 
period  of  five  days."  When  the  play  was  regiven,  the 
King  broke  his  discouraging  silence  by  telling  Moliere 
that  "  he  had  never  written  a  more  amusing  play,"  yet,  as 
the  comedy  was  repeated  at  court  within  two,  instead  of 
five,  days  after  its  first  representation,  Grimarest's  anec- 
dote must  be  accepted  with  considerable  caution,  the  more 
so  because,  according  to  the  official  gazette,  the  new 
piece  was  played  four  times  within  eight  days. 

There  are  reasons,  however,  for  crediting  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  courtiers.  Moliere's  villain,  Dorante,  a 
well-born  sharper,  who  uses  his  social  position  as  a  means 
for  relieving  a  shopkeeping  lover  of  station  of  his  money, 
is  of  their  caste,  while  the  pretensions  of  people  of  quality 
are  made  the  object  of  an  irony  so  delicious  that  The 
Burgher,  a  Gentleman  stands  pre-eminent  among  Moli- 
ere's satirical  plays.  Indeed,  despite  its  farcical  denoue- 
ment, it  is  a  comedy  of  manners  so  true  to  humanity  that 
Monsieur  Jourdain  has  become  the  universally  accepted 
portrait  of  the  parvenu. 

Social  ambition  being  a  folly,  not  a  vice,  this  simple 
shopkeeper,  befuddled  with  love  for  rank,  whose  inborn 
impulse  it  is  to  rub  his  hands  obsequiously  and  scrape  to 
persons  of  quality,  represents  a  type  quite  different  from 
George  Dandin,  the  slowly  thinking  peasant.  "  Is  not 
this  bourgeois  infatuated  with  nobility  the  most  arrant 


THE  HISTRIONIC  PLAYS  349 

fool,  the  most  perfect  booby  we  know  ?  "  asks  M.  Paul 
Mesnard ;  yet  Monsieur  Jourdain's  infatuation  is,  after 
all,  a  weakness  most  of  us  have  experienced  to  a  more  or 
less  degree,  —  the  very  weakness,  indeed,  upon  which  all 
aristocracies  are  based. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  certain  scenes  have  been  traced 
to   Aristophanes,   Cervantes,   Rotrou,  and    others,    Vhe 
Burgher,  a  Gentleman  remains  one  of  Moliere's  truest  ant 
most  original  creations. 

A  one-act  corollary  of  this  play  is  La  Comtesse  tfEscar- 
bagnas.  Here  the  social  climber  appears  as  a  foolish 
provincial  lady,  who,  after  two  months  spent  in  Paris, 
apes  the  manners  of  the  court  and  the  intellectual  lan- 
guishments  of  the  precieuses.  In  love  with  a  viscount, 
who,  like  Dorante,  makes  use  of  her  credulity  to  further 
his  suit  for  another's  hand,  the  countess  flirts  meantime 
with  a  provincial  counsellor  and  a  tax-gatherer,  because, 
as  she  wisely  says,  "  it  is  unwise  to  leave  one  lover 
master  of  the  field,  lest  his  love  go  to  sleep  through  too 
much  confidence  and  the  lack  of  rivalry."  Her  provin- 
cial admirers  are  "  humoured,  in  case  she  might  wish  to 
make  use  of  them,"  —  a  wise  proceeding,  since,  losing 
the  tax-gatherer  through  her  absurd  pretensions,  the 
Comtesse  d'Escarbagnas  takes  the  advice  of  the  viscount 
whose  tool  she  has  been,  and  marries  the  counsellor,  "to 
spite  the  whole  world."  This  little  comedy,  so  slight  in 
construction,  was  intended  merely  to  serve  as  an  intro- 
duction for  a  court  ballet  given  at  St.  Germain  on 
December  second,  1671,  yet  it  is  a  charming  conceit, — 
a  sheet  from  Moliere's  note-book  of  country  manners 
made  when  he  sojourned  at  the  Prince  de  Conti's  court ; 
a  simple  pencil  sketch,  as  it  were,  of  provincial  follies 
drawn  so  deftly  that,  though  farcical  in  form  and  slender 


350  MOLIERE 

in  outline,  it  is  a  picture  of  actual   life,   and  therefore 
comedy. 

Being  the  manager  of  a  popular  theatre,  Moliere  was 
tempted  during  the  later  years  of  his  life  to  dress  old 
scenes  and  characters  in  new  clothes.  Forced  to  fill  his 
theatre,  like  Shakespeare,  he  studied  the  necessities  of 
the  stage,  —  an  exigency  which  makes  ^The  Rascalities  of 
Scapin  (Les  Fourberies  de  Scapin},  his  next  piece,  thor- 
oughly praiseworthy  from  a  stage  point  of  view ;  yet  in 
reverting  to  Italian  imbroglio,  the  false  art  of  his  youth, 
Moliere  here  sacrificed  upon  the  altar  of  his  public  both 
characterisation  and  atmosphere,  the  very  elements  which 
make  his  plays  so  peerless. 

In  Scapin,  the  character  whose  knavery  gives  this  farce 
its  title,  we  have  the  rogue  of  Italian  mummery,  proud 
of  his  lies  and  trickery,  —  in  short,  the  Mascarille  of 
Moliere's  youth.  Indeed,  the  rascalities  Scapin  employs 
on  behalf  of  two  young  Neapolitan  gentlemen  are  strongly 
reminiscent  of  those  invented  by  the  valet  of  Lelie  the 
blunderer  to  aid  his  master.  In  this  instance  there  are 
two  young  men,  each  opposed  by  an  irate  father  in  his 
endeavours  to  wed  a  young  woman  who,  unknown  to 
either,  happens  to  be  the  very  person  most  expedient  for 
him  to  marry.  One  of  these,  Octave  by  name,  having 
wedded  his  inamorata  during  his  father's  absence,  becomes 
so  terrified  at  the  prospect  of  parental  ire  that  he  has 
recourse  to  Scapin,  the  valet  of  his  friend  Leandre,  a 
resourceful  rascal  "  endowed  by  Heaven  with  a  fine  genius 
for  all  those  happy  expedients  of  wit,  those  gallantries  to 
which  the  vulgar  give  the  name  of  knavery." 

"  I  may  say  without  vanity,"  declares  this  new  Mas- 
carille, "  that  no  man  has  ever  been  more  clever  than  I  in 
managing  all  the  springs  of  intrigue."  Needing  money  to 


THE   HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  351 

compass  his  knavery,  this  rascal  resolves  to  filch  from  the 
parents  of  his  young  employers.  Accordingly,  he  tells 
Geronte,  father  of  Leandre,  that  his  son,  enticed  aboard 
the  galley  of  a  young  Turk  to  dine  and  wine,  has  been 
carried  out  to  sea  and  held  for  a  ransom,  which  he,  Scapin, 
has  been  charged  to  collect.  Astonished  by  this  prepos- 
terous demand,  Geronte  repeats,  at  intervals,  during 
Scapin's  recital  of  his  son's  predicament,  the  words, 
"  What  the  devil  did  he  intend  to  do  in  that  galley  ?  " 
(Que  diable  allait-il  faire  dans  cette  galore  ?)  —  a  phrase  in 
whole  or  in  part  more  widely  quoted,  perhaps,  than  any 
in  the  French  language.  Indeed,  Geronte's  bewilderment 
is  so  intense  that  throughout  Scapin's  arguments  he 
constantly  reiterates  this  question,  until  the  rogue  has 
obtained  the  needed  money. 

This  famous  scene  occurs  almost  in  its  entirety  in  The 
Tricked  Pedant  (Le  Pedant  joue)  of  Cyrano  de  Bergerac, 
and  although  M.  Louis  Moland1  cites  an  Italian  scenario 
which  may  have  inspired  both  playwriters,  the  phrase 
qu  allait-il  faire  dans  cette  gal  ere,  occurring  in  the  earlier 
play,  is  circumstantial  evidence,  at  least,  that  Moliere 
helped  himself  to  Cyrano's  product,  —  an  act  he  justifies 
by  the  assertion  of  his  right  "  to  take  possession  of  his 
property  wherever  found."  2 

In  this  instance  he  possesses  himself  of  the  "property" 
of  Terence  as  well  as  that  of  Cyrano  de  Bergerac ; 
while  in  placing  a  character  in  a  gunny  sack  to  be  beaten 

1  Moliere  et  la  come  die  italienne,  1 867. 

2  //   m*est  per  mis  de  reprendre  man  bien  ou  je  le  trouve,  are  words 
ascribed  to  Moliere  by  Grimarest ;  and  this  phraseology  has  led  certain 
commentators  to  suggest  the  possibility  of  a  youthful  collaboration  which 
inspired  Moliere  to  refurbish  a  scene  he  had  once  contributed  to  Cyrano's 
play. 


352  MOLIERE 

soundly  by  Scapin  under  the  pretence  of  defending  him 
from  a  horde  of  imaginary  bravos,  he  cements,  as  Boileau 
has  suggested,  an  unholy  alliance  between  Tabarin1  and 
the  classic  drama. 

Although  The  Rascalities  of  Scapin  is  distinctly  a  play 
of  action,  it  is,  despite  deft  touches  from  Moliere's 
brush,  little  more  than  an  Italian  imbroglio,  —  in  other 
words,  a  farce  of  "  three  or  four  surprises,  two  or  three 
disguises,  combats  and  tumults." 

First  presented  on  the  stage  of  the  Palais  Royal,  May 
twenty-fourth,  1671,  it  still  holds  a  place  in  the  repertory 
of  the  Comedie  Franchise,  —  an  honour  due  to  histri- 
onic rather  than  literary  value ;  for  in  spite  of  its  "  side- 
splitting "  qualities  one  is  tempted  to  agree  with  Boileau 
and  pronounce  it  unworthy  of  the  great  creator  of  char- 
acter comedy. 

Indeed,  as  if  aware  that  Scapin's  rascalities  were  un- 
becoming his  genius,  Moliere  returned  to  his  own  in 
The  Learned  Women  (Les  Femmes  savantes),  a  five-act 
comedy  in  verse,  produced  at  the  Palais  Royal,  March 
eleventh,  1672.  In  this,  the  last  of  his  plays  save  'The 
Imaginary  Invalid,  Moliere  almost  reaches  his  highest 
level ;  for  only  in  its  lack  of  a  commanding  character, 
such  as  Alceste  or  Tartuffe,  and  in  a  corresponding  in- 
tensity of  purpose,  is  this  play  inferior  to  his  two  great 
masterpieces.  Its  verse  is  more  polished,  its  comedy 
purer,  perhaps,  than  any  he  ever  wrote.  Only  in  vigour 
does  it  fail  to  rival  his  greatest  work ;  for  as  a  satire  upon 

1  Tabarin  was  a  famous  mountebank  of  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  is  sup- 
posed to  have  originated  this  scene.  It  was  a  more  or  less  common  farce 
situation,  however,  in  Moliere's  day,  and  probably  formed  the  subject  of 
a  canevas  entitled  Gor gibus  dans  le  sac  played  by  Moliere's  strolling  com- 
pany and  presumably  composed  by  its  manager. 


THE   HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  353 

society  from  the  pen  of  a  moralist  who  felt  "  he  could 
do  nothing  better  than  attack  the  follies  of  his  time  with 
ridiculous  likenesses,"  'The  Learned  Women  stands  but  a  / 
step  below  the  The  Misanthrope  and  The  Hypocrite. 

In  writing  this  comedy  Moliere  once  more  employed 
material  he  had  used  in  former  plays ;  for  his  blue  stock- 
ings —  so  ridiculous  in  their  craving  for  knowledge  — 
suggest  Cathos  and  Magdelon,  the  pr'ecieuses  of  his  first 
great  comedy ;  while  Trissotin,  a  literary  Pecksniff,  and 
Vadius,  his  pedantic  friend,  are  reminiscent  of  the  poets 
Lysidas  and  Du  Croisy  of  The  Criticism  of  The  School 
for  Waives  and  of  The  Versailles  Impromptu,  respectively. 

The  Learned  Women,  however,  is  written  in  a  key  so 
different  that  it  cannot  be  called  a  replica.  It  satirises 
the  assumptions  of  fashionable  wits  and  the  mawkish 
sentimentality  of  culture  seeking  women;  yet  there  is  no 
vivacious  Mascarille  to  deck  himself  in  borrowed  plu- 
mage, no  purely  farcical  situation.  Indeed,  Moliere's 
desire  is  manifestly  to  preach  a  sermon  upon  the  text 
that  woman  was  created  to  play  a  domestic  role  in  life. 
His  play  is  written  with  such  fidelity  to  nature  that, 
shorn  of  their  seventeenth  century  garments,  his  strong 
minded  blue  stockings  might  readily  pass  for  "  new 
women " ;  yet  in  outlining  their  characters  he  has 
followed  the  changing  fashions  of  his  own  time.  The 
precieuse  was  rapidly  becoming  an  encyclopediste,  the  cult 
of  verbiage  giving  place  to  a  boudoir  sciolism,  —  a  better- 
ment, perhaps,  in  intention ;  yet  in  this  feminine  pursuit 
of  knowledge  the  domestic  virtues  were  Stirling.  Against 
this  dangerous  tendency  Moliere  preached  his  last  ser- 
mon, choosing,  to  illustrate  his  text,  an  upper  middle 
class  family  whose  feminine  members  are  beset  with  a 
craving  for  culture.  Chrysale,  a  bon  bourgeois,  as  Moliere 

23 


354  MOLIERE 

calls  him,  is  the  henpecked  husband  of  an  imperious 
wife  named  Philaminte,  the  despotic  ruler  of  a  femi- 
nine realm  whose  lawgiver  is  Vaugelas  the  grammarian. 
Queen  Philaminte's  subjects  are  Armande,  her  feline 
daughter,  and  her  sister-in-law,  an  absurd  spinster  named 
Belise,  who  imagines  herself  beloved  of  all  men.  Tris- 
sotin,  a  fashionable  poet,  is  prime  minister  of  this  domain 
of  culture.  Its  peace  is  marred,  however,  by  sensible 
Henriette,  the  youngest  daughter  of  Philaminte.  This 
worthy  representative  of  true  womanhood  is  loved  by 
Clitandre,  a  commendable  young  man  of  fashion,  whose 
affections  are  claimed  by  Armande  as  well  as  by  her 
spinster  aunt  Belise.  This  much  loved  hero  is  supported 
in  his  suit  for  Henriette's  hand  by  her  father,  until  that 
gentleman  has  the  temerity  to  broach  the  matter  to  his 
wife. 

Bent  upon  marrying  Henriette  to  Trissotin  the  poet, 
Philaminte  routs  her  husband  so  completely  that  he 
capitulates  unconditionally;  yet,  fortunately  for  the  course 
of  true  love,  this  browbeaten  paterfamilias  has  a  brother 
named  Ariste,  a  counterpart  of  his  sensible  namesake 
in  The  School  for  Husbands,  of  Cleante  in  The  Hypocrite, 
and  of  Philinte  in  The  Misanthrope.  Knowing  that  Tris- 
sotin's  sole  desire  is  to  wed  his  niece's  fortune,  Ariste 
plays  him  a  pious  trick.  The  rhymester  is  told  that 
Chrysale  has  been  ruined  financially  and  his  daughter 
consequently  made  penniless,  whereupon  he  withdraws 
his  suit  and  hastily  takes  to  flight,  leaving  the  field  to 
Clitandre. 

The  real  charm  of  this  play,  however,  lies  in  its  mas-1 
terful  characterisation,  since  the  plot  is  merely  a  frame ' 
for  a  faithfully  outlined  sketch  of  seventeenth  century 
manners.     Indeed,  Moliere  pursues  the  follies  of  strong 


THE   HISTRIONIC   PLAYS  355 

mindedness  through  scene  after  scene  with  an  irony  so 
ruthless  that  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  domineering 
Philaminte,  cat-like  Armande,  and  fatuous  Belise,  each 
so  obsessed  with  a  mania  for  culture,  are  not  apostles 
of  Browning,  Ibsen,  or  Maeterlinck.  Chrysale,  too,  the 
meek,  long-suffering  husband,  is  a  perennial  type,  and 
Martine,  the  maid-of-all-work,  discharged  by  Philaminte 
because  she  murders  the  language  of  Vaugelas,  has  many 
a  modern  Irish  counterpart,  ready  to  take  corresponding 
liberties  with  the  King's  English. 

The  most  caustic  satire  of  this  play  is  found  in  the 
scene  where  Trissotin,  the  fortune-hunting  poet,  declaims 
a  precious  sonnet  of  his  own  to  the  three  learned  women. 
Called  Tricotin  in  the  original  draft  of  the  play,  this 
Trissotin,  whose  name  has  been  interpreted  as  the 
equivalent  of  trois  fois  sot  (three  times  stupid),  is  an 
unmistakable  portrait  to  the  life  of  the  Abbe  Cotin,  an 
Academician  of  the  day,  whose  success  with  rondeaux, 
madrigals,  and  enigmas  had  led  him  to  arrogate  unto 
himself  the  title  of  "  Father  of  French  epigram."  In 
order  that  his  shaft  might  not  be  aimed  amiss,  Moliere 
inserted  some  of  Cotin's  own  verses  in  this  scene,  —  a 
piece  of  malice  difficult  to  countenance.  Moreover, 
Trissotin's  pedantic  friend  Vadius  is  presumably  a  por- 
trait of  Menage,  a  famous  pedant  of  the  ruelles. 

For  a  time  this  bel  esprit  and  savant  extol  each  other's 
productions  to  the  rapturous  sighs  of  their  dupes  and 
the  manifest  disgust  of  rational  Henriette ;  then  Vadius, 
unaware  that  the  poem  Trissotin  vaunts  is  composed  by 
him,  attacks  it  unmercifully,  meantime  demanding  at- 
tention for  a  ballad  of  his  own.  This  is  Trissotin's  cue 
to  abuse  balladry,  whereupon  the  two  sciolists  exhaust 
their  respective  vocabularies  in  violent  recrimination, 


356  MOLIERE 

until  Vadius  leaves  angrily,  with  the  avowed  threat  of 
annihilating  Trissotin  with  his  pen. 
/  This  scene  gave  preciosity  its  coup  de  grace.  The 
Trissotins  have  long  been  dead  and  buried.  Moliere, 
however,  lives,  a  worthy  champion  ot  simplicity  and, 
truth.  Each  of  his  characters  depicts  some  fundamental 
human  quality;  each  is  a  perennial  type.  In  giving  the 
scenes  he  borrowed  a  clearer  atmosphere  and  by  painting 
the  characters  he  copied  from  others  with  simple  yet 
forcible  colours,  he  rose  invariably  superior  to  his  models. 
Plautus  and  Terence  imitated  the  Greeks ;  but  these 
Latin  poets  depicted  only  a  part  of  the  manners  of  Rome. 
Moliere  painted  not  only  the  vices  and  follies  common 
to  all  ages  and  all  countries,  but  the  characteristics  of  his 
own  people  so  truthfully  that  his  comedies  are  a  history 
of  the  manners,  fashions,  and  tastes  of  his  century. 

Many  attempts  have  been  made  to  liken  him  to 
Shakespeare;  yet  such  comparisons,  if  not  odious,  are 
at  best  idle.  Shakespeare  wrote  tragedy  and  romantic 
comedy ;  Moliere,  naturalistic  comedy  and  farce.  Liv- 
ing in  an  age  when  his  countrymen  sought  adventures 
on  many  seas  and  brought  to  the  shores  of  their  native 
isle  tales  of  wild  exploits,  Shakespeare  found  his  subjects 
in  the  heroic  history  of  England  and  Rome,  in  a  fanciful 
Italy,  or  an  imaginary  Greece  and  Bohemia;  whereas 
Moliere,  living  in  a  polished  and  prescribed  age  occupied 
with  its  own  achievements,  painted  the  people  of  that 
age,  not  merely  as  a  dramatic  artist  engaged  in  providing 
the  stage  with  marketable  plays,  but  as  a  highly  minded 
philosopher  who  felt  it  his  duty  to  expose  the  vices  of 
society.  The  one  was  -an  idealist,  writing,  unhampered, 
in  an  age  of  adventure ;  the  other,  a  realist  fettered  by 
three  dramatic  unities.  "  Moliere  was  a  caged  eagle," 


THE  HISTRIONIC  PLAYS  357 

M.  Henri  Merou  of  the  French  consular  service  once 
said  to  the  present  writer ;  "  had  he  been  free,  there  are 
no  heights  to  which  his  genius  might  not  have  flown." 
Instead  of  soaring  as  his  fancy  willed,  the  great  French- 
man was  condemned  to  beat  his  wings  against  his  Aris- 
totelian bars.  Two  men  so  diametrically  different  in 
temperament  and  opportunity  as  Shakespeare  and  Mo- 
liere  are  not  to  be  compared  or  classed  as  rivals. 
Each  reflects  the  spirit  of  an  age  and  the  traditions  of  a 
race;  each,  in  his  way,  is  an  incomparable  genius,  to 
whom  all  the  subsequent  dramatists  of  the  world  have 
been  indebted  for  inspiration  and  light. 


3f8  MOLIERE 


XVIII 
DEATH 

THAT  propensity  toward  affection  with  which  the  author 
of  T'he  Famous  Comedienne  says  Moliere  was  born,  is  made 
so  apparent  in  his  writings  that  it  is  idle  to  believe  the 
years  he  spent  in  retirement  at  Auteuil  were  other  than 
years  of  anguish.  According  to  his  wife's  libeller,  he 
enjoyed  his  greatest  pleasure  at  his  country  house, 
"  where  he  had  placed  his  daughter " ;  and  there  he 
doubtless  amused  himself  in  educating  the  child  as  he 
had  the  mother,  though  profiting,  let  it  be  hoped,  by 
experience. 

Madeleine-Esprit  was  a  child  of  two  at  the  time 
Moliere  sought  asylum  in  the  suburbs,  and  surely  the 
role  of  Louison  in  The  Imaginary  Invalid  was  inspired 
by  her;  for  this  child's  part  is  written  with  a  tender- 
ness and  fidelity  inconceivable  had  not  children  plucked 
the  poet's  gown  "  to  share  the  good  man's  smile." 
Moreover  his  sonnet  to  La  Mothe  le  Vayer  betrays  a 
knowledge  of  paternal  love  too  profound  to  have  been 
imagined.  Finally,  in  the  verses  of  Psyche  written  by 
Moliere,  he  exclaims  that  the  harsh  fatalities  which 
remove  for  ever  persons  dear  to  us  bear  "cruelties  to 
crush  out  hearts,"  beside  which  "  envy's  poison  and 
the  shafts  of  hatred "  are  minor  trials  to  one  "  whose 
sovereign  is  reason." 


DEATH 


359 


At  the  time  these  last  lines  were  penned  Moliere  had 
lived  apart  from  Armande  Bejart  about  four  years,  and 
if  reason  was  his  sovereign  he  proved  a  most  unheedful 
subject;  for  while  he  was  thus  proclaiming  her  sover- 
eignty he  was  apparently  seeking  a  reconciliation  with 
his  capricious  wife.  Psyche  was  played  during  the  car- 
nival of  1671,  and  Armande  Bejart  fell  ill  at  this  time, 
—  a  circumstance  which  may  have  inspired  a  spirit  of 
forgiveness  in  her  husband's  heart. 

As  their  third  child l  was  born  in  September  of  the 
following  year,  Moliere's  reunion  with  his  wife  surely 
occurred  no  later  than  the  end  of  1671.  Grimarest, 
however,  places  this  event  ten  months  before  the  first  pro- 
duction of  The  Imaginary  Invalid,  —  an  assertion  which 
would  make  the  time  of  its  occurrence  some  time  in  April, 
1672.  He  is  manifestly  in  error,  for  in  addition  to  the 
tangible  proof  presented  by  the  birth  of  Moliere's  last 
child,  the  circumstantial  evidence  may  be  cited  of  Boi- 
leau's  assertion  that  the  poet  left  him  to  correct  alone 
some  verses  in  the  first  act  of  The  Learned  Women  while 
he  (Moliere)  "  went  out  a  moment  with  his  wife."  2  As 
this  play  was  produced  in  March,  1672,  there  was  ap- 
parently little  need  at  that  time  for  the  intervention  of 
those  friends  who,  according  to  Grimarest,  endeavoured 
to  adjust  the  relations  of  this  ill  assorted  couple,  or  rather 
"  to  make  them  live  together  more  agreeably."  Since 
Boileau  and  Mignard's  little  daughter  stood  sponsors 
for  the  child  born  after  the  reunion,  the  critic  and  the 
painter  were  apparently  those  most  instrumental  in  bring- 
ing that  desirable  event  to  pass.  One  account,  however, 

1  Pierre-Jean-Baptiste-Armand,  who  survived  his  birth    but   a    few 
weeks. 

2  MSS.    de  Brossette. 


360  MOLIERE 

makes  the  Marquis  de  Jonsac  the  peacemaker,  and  the 
reconciliation  a  matter  of  theatrical  policy  purely,  since  it 
appears  that  — 

Moliere,  with  the  intention  of  offering  his  wife  the 
role  of  Angelique  in  The  Imaginary  Invalid,  and  know- 
ing how  much  the  sweetness  of  her  voice  would  add  to 
the  expression  of  its  natural  sentiments,  had  conceived 
this  part  in  a  way  sufficiently  pleasing  to  make  the  actress 
to  whom  it  was  given  applauded  from  beginning  to  end. 
Jonsac  made  Mme.  Moliere  appreciate  the  value  of  such 
consideration  on  the  part  of  an  ill  treated  husband. 
Possibly  this  motive  touched  her  slightly,  but  the  hope 
of  pleasing  the  public  in  a  part  written  for  her  made 
her  decide.  The  reconciliation  took  place  the  same 
evening.1 

This  story  makes  the  restoration  of  domestic  harmony 
occur  upon  the  completion  of  The  Imaginary  Invalid, — 
a  case  impossible  unless  there  had  been  another  rupture 
after  the  birth  of  the  last  Moliere  child.  The  only  indi- 
cation that  such  a  breach  took  place  is  to  be  found  in  the 
story  told  by  the  author  of  The  Famous  Comedienne  regard- 
ing a  love  affair  between  Armande  Bejart  and  Baron,  the 
young  actor  who  left  Moliere's  company  in  1666  because 
that  very  lady  boxed  his  ears. 

Baron  had  been  touring  the  provinces  with  a  travel- 
ling company,  but  shortly  after  the  Easter  closing  of 
the  Palais  Royal  in  1670,  having  been  urged  by  Moliere 

1  Extrait  des  MJmoires  de  Mme.  Guerin  veuve  de  Moliere,  published 
by  the  Abbe  d'Allainval  in  1822  (Collection  des  memoir  es  dramatiques). 
These  memoirs  are,  in  the  main,  a  compilation  from  The  Famous 
Comedienne,  and  this  anecdote  is  avowedly  taken  from  that  work ;  but 
according  to  M.  Paul  Mesnard  there  is  no  edition  of  The  Famous 
Comedienne  in  which  it  occurs. 


DEATH  361 

to  rejoin  his  forces,  he  became  a  member  of  the  "  King's 
Troupe,  entitled  to  a  full  share  of  the  receipts,"  l  while 
Mile.  Beauval  of  the  provincial  organisation  with  which 
this  young  actor  had  travelled,  and,  according  to  Robinet, 
"  an  actress  of  royal  discrimination/'  was  received  in  the 
company,  together  with  her  husband. 

The  interesting  feature  of  the  second  advent  of  Mo- 
Here's  protege  as  a  member  of  the  Palais  Royal  forces 
lies,  however,  in  his  friendship  with  the  poet.  The 
following  account  by  Grimarest  of  their  relations  may 
be  taken  as  coming  from  the  young  comedian's  own 
lips: 

The  absence  of  Baron  had  caused  Moliere  much 
suffering ;  for  the  education  of  this  young  man  amused 
him  in  his  moments  of  leisure.  His  family  trials  in- 
creased daily  ;  he  could  not  always  work  or  seek  distrac- 
tion among  his  friends  ;  moreover,  he  disliked  numbers 
and  constraint,  and  had  nothing  to  amuse  him  or  deaden 
his  suffering.  Having  succeeded  in  acquiring  a  reputa- 
tion as  a  man  of  good  intellect,  his  saddest  thought  was 
that  he  was  so  open  to  reproach  because  his  household 
was  not  more  peaceful  and  better  conducted ;  therefore 
he  viewed  Baron's  return  in  the  light  of  a  domestic  di- 
version which  made  it  possible  for  him  to  lead  more 
satisfactorily  a  tranquil  life  in  conformity  with  his  health 
and  principles,  and  free  from  extraneous  family  pomp 
or  even  from  those  friends  whose  inopportune  presence 
so  often  robs  life  of  its  most  agreeable  moments. 

Baron,  apparently  no  less  desirous  than  Moliere  of 
renewing  their  former  relations,  returned  to  Paris  imme- 
diately upon  the  receipt  of  his  benefactor's  invitation,  and 
on  the  day  of  his  arrival  the  poet  went  to  the  Porte  St. 
Victor  to  meet  him  ;  but  "  country  air  and  travelling  had 

1  Registre  de  la  Grange. 


362  MOLIERE 

so  jaded  and  disfigured  "  the  young  actor  that  Moliere 
let  him  pass  in  the  throng  without  recognition,  though 
upon  returning  home,  much  disappointed,  was  rejoiced 
to  find  him  already  there.  After  recounting  how  Baron, 
having  left  his  purse  "at  the  last  inn  at  which  he  slept," 
was  too  anxious  to  see  Moliere  to  return  in  quest  of  it, 
and  how  delighted  the  poet  was  to  find  his  protege  so 
"grateful  and  so  touched,"  Grimarest  goes  on  to  say 
that  "  Moliere  resumed  the  same  care  he  had  taken  of 
him  from  the  beginning,  and  one  can  imagine  with  what 
solicitude  he  set  to  work  to  train  him  in  manners  as  well 
as  in  his  profession." 

Baron  lived  with  Moliere  at  Auteuil,  retaining  his 
benefactor's  friendship  until  the  latter's  death.  The 
story  the  author  of  The  Famous  Comedienne  tells  of  the 
young  actor's  intrigue  with  Moliere's  wife  places  him  in 
a  light  almost  too  ignoble;  for,  as  M.  Mesnard  exclaims, 
"  on  the  word  of  a  cowardly  pamphleteer,  shall  he  be 
considered  capable  of  such  abominable  ingratitude  ?  " 

The  base  conduct  imputed  to  Baron  was  supposedly 
brought  about  by  his  appearance  with  Armande  Bejart  in 
Pysche  during  the  carnival  of  1671,  when  she  played  the 
title  role  and  he  Cupid.  According  to  the  oft  quoted 
scandal  monger : 

The  joint  praises  they  received  forced  them  to  examine 
each  other  with  more  attention  and  even  with  some  de- 
gree of  pleasure.  He  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence 
by  paying  her  a  compliment  regarding  the  good  fortune 
that  had  befallen  him  in  being  chosen  to  represent  her 
lover,  observing  meantime  that  he  owed  the  approval 
of  the  public  to  this  lucky  chance,  and  that  it  was  not 
difficult  to  play  the  part  of  a  person  whose  feelings  one 
could  so  well  understand.  La  Moliere  replied  that  the 
1  Notice  biograpbiquf  sur  Moliere. 


DEATH  363 

praises  bestowed  on  a  man  like  himself  were  the  reward 
of  merit,  and  that  she  had  no  share  in  them  ;  but  that 
gallantry  on  the  part  of  one  who  was  reputed  to  have 
had  so  many  successes  in  love  did  not  surprise  her,  for 
he  must  be  as  accomplished  an  actor  outside  the  theatre 
as  upon  the  stage.  Baron,  to  whom  such  reproaches 
were  not  displeasing,  told  her  that  he  had  indeed  some 
acquaintances  that  one  might  call  bonnes  for  tunes  y  but  that 
he  was  prepared  to  sacrifice  all  for  her,  since  he  would 
set  more  value  on  the  smallest  of  her  favours  than  on 
any  which  the  ladies  who  had  smiled  upon  him  were  able 
to  bestow ;  whereupon  he  mentioned  their  names,  with  a 
discretion  which  was  natural  to  him. 

To  abbreviate  an  unpleasant  story,  Armande  was  so 
pleased  with  this  debonair  love-making  that  she  consented 
to  a  continuation  of  their  respective  roles  off  the  stage, 
but  Baron  proved  so  faithless  an  admirer  that  the  intrigue 
was  of  short  duration.  Since  the  hero  of  this  unsavoury 
romance  is  reputed  to  have  pictured  himself  in  the  title 
role  of  his  comedy,  L'Homme  a  bonnes  fortunes,  the  name 
of  which  is  untranslatable,  unless  it  be  called  ^he  Lady 
Killer^  and  as  La  Bruyere  paints  him  under  the  name  of 
Roscius  as  a  conceited  jackanapes,  he  was  perhaps  ca- 
pable of  this  "  abominable  ingratitude  "  toward  his  ben- 
efactor; yet  that  such  an  amour  could  have  been 
carried  on  under  Moliere's  jealous  eyes  while  Baron 
remained  his  friend  is  scarcely  conceivable ;  hence  the 
story  of  the  intrigue,  together  with  an  even  baser 
insinuation  regarding  the  young  man's  relations  with 
the  poet,  may  be  dismissed  as  the  unproved  slander  of 
a  coward. 

Moliere's  questionable  wife  may  be  left  for  the  mo- 
ment to  her  capricious  ways,  while  the  centre  of  the 
family  stage  is  taken  by  her  more  sympathetic  sister 


364  MOLIERE 

Madeleine.  In  The  Versailles  Impromptu  the  elder  Be- 
jart  is  clearly  drawn  by  the  poet  himself.  "You  will 
represent,"  he  tells  her,  "one  of  those  women  who, 
because  they  do  not  make  love,  believe  that  everything 
else  is  permitted  them  "  ;  and  throughout  his  skit  Mad- 
eleine's positive  and  intelligent  character  is  distinctly 
drawn.  Rallying  Moliere  with  the  frankness  their  long 
intimacy  warrants,  she  advises  him  upon  the  construc- 
tion of  his  play  and  encourages  him  boldly  to  meet  the 
attacks  of  his  enemies,  filling,  in  short,  the  role  she 
played  throughout  his  life;  for,  to  quote  M.  Gustave 
Larroumet,  "  Madeleine,  entire,  is  in  The  Versailles  1m- 
promptu,  —  her  frank  way  of  speaking,  the  soundness  of 
her  practical  mind,  her  bantering  good  humour,  and  the 
enlightened  affection  she  bore  Moliere." 

Since  the  romantic  storm  of  their  early  days  an 
equable  friendship  had  arisen  between  Madeleine  and  the 
poet,  wherein  she  appears  in  the  light  of  a  protector, 
comrade,  and  adviser.  Among  the  theatrical  jealousies 
and  bickerings  of  the  thirty  years  of  their  intimacy,  not 
a  single  discordant  note  in  character  is  recorded,  save 
her  wise  opposition  to  Moliere's  marriage.  Originally 
the  star  of  the  organisation,  she  accepted  principal  roles 
or  minor  parts  with  equanimity,  now  playing  Dorine  in 
The  Hypocrite,  now  a  gypsy  or  a  jaded  nymph,  finally 
retiring  without  a  protest  or  a  murmur  from  the  stage 
she  had  graced  so  long. 

After  the  production  of  Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac,  in 
1669,  she  played  her  accustomed  parts  no  more ;  and  in 
the  January  following  she  lost  her  aged  mother,  Marie 
Herve,  upon  whose  grave  in  the  parish  cemetery  of  St. 
Paul  she  erected  a  tomb  "  with  the  desire,"  as  the  epi- 
1  La  Comedie  de  Moliere. 


DEATH  365 

taph  stated,  "of  showing,  even  after  death,  a  few  marks 
of  the  gratitude  she  felt  for  her  friendship  and  the  care 
she  had  always  taken  of  her/'  Upon  the  second  anni- 
versary of  Marie  Herve's  death  Madeleine  drew  her  will, 
calling  to  her  bedside  for  the  purpose  her  attorneys, 
who  pronounced  her  "  ill  of  body,  but  sound  in  mind, 
memory,  and  judgment."  "  Commending  her  soul  to 
her  Creator,"  she  ordered  that  her  body  be  interred  in 
the  church  of  St.  Paul  "  in  the  place  where  her  family 
had  the  right  of  burial."  Founding  in  perpetuity  for 
the  repose  of  her  soul  two  weekly  requiem  masses,  she 
endowed  five  paupers,  to  be  chosen  by  her  sisters,  each 
with  a  daily  income  of  five  sous  in  honour  of  the  five 
wounds  of  our  Saviour ;  then,  bequeathing  to  her  brother 
Louis  and  her  two  sisters,  Genevieve  and  Armande,  an 
income  of  four  hundred  livres  each,  she  constituted  the 
latter  a  residuary  legatee  in  trust  of  the  remainder  of 
her  estate  for  the  benefit  of  Moliere's  daughter  and  his 
"children  yet  to  be  born."  A  month  later  (February 
fourteenth,  1672),  she  drew  a  codicil  to  this  will  for 
the  purpose  of  giving  Armande  more  freedom  in  the 
care  of  the  residuary  estate,  and,  still  sound  of  mind, 
she  ordered  it  read  aloud;  whereupon  she  dictated  a 
few  slight  corrections,  though  at  that  time  barely  able 
to  trace  her  signature,  since  "sight  and  strength  had 
failed  her." 

Three  days  later  the  end  came.  Madeleine  died  with 
a  fortitude  so  marked  that  Robinet  in  his  rhymed  gazette 
exclaimed  that  she  "acted  well  the  part  each  mortal  plays 
before  the  Fates,  being  a  good  Christian  as  well  as  a  good 
actress."  Her  death  was  tragic,  too,  for  not  a  single 
member  of  her  family  graced  her  bedside,  —  through  no 
fault  of  theirs,  however,  since  the  Palais  Royal  players 


366  MOLIERE 

had  been  commanded  to  Versailles.  Moliere's  name 
figures  in  the  burial  act ;  therefore  he  paid  his  last  respects 
to  the  woman  who  might  have  made  him  an  ideal  help- 
mate had  his  eyes  not  been  blinded  by  her  wayward 
sister's  charms. 

During  the  long  tramp  from  the  church  of  St.  Germain 
1'Auxerrois,  where  the  funeral  service  was  held,  to  the 
cemetery  of  St.  Paul,  he  had  ample  time  to  look  back- 
ward through  the  years  to  the  hours  when  he  trudged 
behind  an  ox  cart  while  the  friend  whose  mortal  part  he 
followed  lightened  the  journey  with  her  hopeful  smile. 
The  victim  of  a  fatal  disease,  he  knew  he  must  soon  be 
borne  to  his  own  last  resting-place.  Domestic  trials 
weighed  heavily  upon  him,  glowing  youth  no  longer 
spurred  him  on  to  mount  "ambition's  ladder,"  the 
King's  favour  was  waning ;  the  Academy,  too,  had 
scorned  him,  for  no  actor  who  blackened  his  face  daily, 
no  impious  author  such  as  he,  might  sit  among  the 
Immortals.1 

Beset  by  enemies,  his  health  irrevocably  lost,  he 
awaited  death  with  a  heart  overborne  by  grief.  Of  the 
rash  company  who  had  signed  the  contract  of  "  The 
Illustrious  Theatre"  with  him  on  June  thirtieth,  1643, 
Madeleine  was  the  last,  save  her  sister  Genevieve.  Of 
the  little  band  of  strollers  who  had  followed  him  through 
France,  Joseph  Bejart,  Gros  Rene,  and  the  beautiful  Du 
Pare  were  dead,  while  Louis  Bejart  had  retired  with  a 
pension ;  so  the  De  Bries  and  Genevieve  Bejart  alone 
remained  members  of  his  company.  His  parents  were 

1  A  hundred  years  after  his  death,  his  bust  was  placed  in  the  room 
where  the  Academicians  met,  with  an  inscription  reading  :  "  Nothing 
was  lacking  in  his  glory,  he  was  lacking  in  ours." 


DEATH  367 

dead ;  his  sister  Marie- Madeleine  and  his  brothers  had 
played  no  real  part  in  his  life.  Overcome  by  the  cares 
of  his  triple  profession,  he  made  it  "  a  point  of  honour 
not  to  give  up,"  yet  "  the  thirst  of  praise  "  was  quenched, 
the  fever  of  battle  no  longer  burned  in  his  veins.  In 
the  words  of  M.  Larroumet,  "He  buried  his  youth  and 
his  happiness  that  day.  Death  had  marked  him  for  his 
own,  and  walked  by  his  side.  In  a  year  to  a  day,  his 
hour  would  come." 

The  dead  woman  had  discovered  his  genius.  Her 
will  proves  the  affection  she  bore  him.  The  inventory 
of  her  effects  shows  her  frugal  character.  She  lived  in 
a  two-room  apartment  on  the  fourth  floor  of  a  house  at 
the  corner  of  the  rue  St.  Thomas  du  Louvre  and  the  rue 
St.  Honore, —  "a  family  phalanstery,"  since  her  mother, 
her  sisters,  her  brothers,  and  Moliere  himself  dwelt  there 
at  various  times.  Her  furniture  was  simple,  her  ward- 
robe contained  only  necessary  wearing  apparel ;  and  al- 
though her  estate  was  considerable,  she  left  little  plate 
and  fewer  jewels ;  only  in  her  theatrical  costuming  is 
extravagance  perceptible,  for  here  the  instincts  of  an 
artist  appear.  Moreover,  she  left  no  debts.  She  paid 
an  early  tribute  to  the  frailty  of  her  sex,  but  her  life 
thereafter  proves  her  to  have  been  a  woman  of  exceptional 
talent  and  merit.  The  wiles  of  a  young  sister  beguiled 
away  the  man  she  served  so  faithfully,  yet  she  alone 
inspired  and  developed  his  genius.  She  lived  to  see  the 
reconciliation  between  Moliere  and  his  wife,  —  it  is  to  be 
hoped  she  played  a  generous  part  in  bringing  it  to  pass. 

Born  just  seven  months  after  Madeleine  Bejart's  death, 
Moliere's  third  child  died  within  a  few  days  ;  but  in 

1  La  Com'edie  de  Moliere. 


368  MOLIERE 

Pierre-Jean-Baptiste-Armand,  the  name  with  which  he 
was  christened,  there  is  evidence  that  during  the  last  year 
of  his  life  the  poet  dwelt  in  comparative  amity  with  his 
wife.  Grimarest  tells  us  that  to  make  "  the  union  more 
perfect,"  Moliere  gave  up  the  use  of  milk  and  returned  to 
meat,  —  "a  change  in  diet  which  redoubled  his  cough  and 
the  inflammation  of  his  lungs  "  ;  certainly  a  striking  evi- 
dence of  his  desire  to  make  full  amends  for  the  bitterness 
of  the  past.  Furthermore,  he  left  his  Auteuil  retreat  and 
went  to  live  in  the  rue  Richelieu,  in  a  style  to  suit  his 
wife's  extravagant  and  worldly  tastes.1  There  this  ill 
mated  couple  dwelt  in  a  sumptuous  apartment  of  fourteen 
rooms  adorned  with  rare  tapestries  and  objects  of  art. 
The  inventory  of  Moliere's  effects  published  by  M. 
Eudore  Soulie2  shows  the  costly  nature  of  the  furnishings, 
—  the  paintings  and  Oriental  rugs,  the  clocks  made  by 
Raillard  and  Gavelle,  the  plate  and  jewels ;  while  a  bat- 
terie  de  cuisine,  complete  in  every  detail,  indicates  that 
although  the  poet  had  been  converted  to  the  principles  of 
Descartes,  his  tastes  remained  true  to  the  epicureanism 
of  his  youth.  Like  most  artists,  he  loved  luxury,  and 
as  a  collector  of  objets  de  vertu,  betrayed  the  taste  one 
would  expect  of  a  man  whose  friends  were  the  great  poets 
and  painters  of  his  day.  To  quote  Grimarest  once  more, 
"  in  gratifying  himself  he  spared  no  expense " ;  and 
although  his  income  has  been  estimated  at  thirty  thou- 
sand livres,  the  estate  he  left  at  his  death  barely  exceeded 
one  year's  revenue,  —  a  further  proof  that  he  should 

1  La   Ma/son  mortuaire  df   Moliere   by  Auguste  Vitu  is  a  volume 
devoted  entirely  to  the  facts  relating  to  the  site  of  Moliere's  last  residence 
and  the  details  regarding  it. 

2  Recbercbes  sur  Moliere. 


DEATH  369 

have  married  frugal   Madeleine    Bejart    instead   of  her 
extravagant  sister.1 

In  youth  an  epicurean,  in  maturity  a  stoic,  Moliere's 
philosophy  was  the  result  of  experience.  Having  ac- 
cepted readily  the  love,  pleasure,  and  glory  life  had  given, 
he  made  resignation  a  shelter  for  his  cares,  and  in  the 
companionship  of  men  of  kindred  tastes  sought  a  solace 
to  mellow  the  bitterness  of  his  heart.  Chapelle,  a  scoffer, 
and  La  Mothe  le  Vayer,  a  sceptic,  were  among  his  friends ; 
yet  deep  within  him  was  a  veneration  for  established  in- 
stitutions, a  reverence  for  the  church  no  philosophy  could 
stifle.  His  reconciliation  with  his  wife  was  a  tribute  to 
the  conventions  ;  middle  class  antecedents  prevented  him 
from  ever  becoming  a  true  sceptic,  for  although  his  con- 
victions were  those  of  a  man  of  the  world  living  in  an 
atmosphere  of  doubt,  faith  was  inherent.  Gentle  to 
women  and  manly  to  men,  he  was  a  gentleman  in  the 
broad  sense ;  for  there  is  no  evidence  to  indicate  that  he 
was  either  mean,  a  coward,  or  dishonest,  and  much  to  prove 
he  was  both  affectionate  and  brave.  As  an  epicurean  he 
took  what  the  Fates  laid  at  his  door  until  the  offering 
was  a  cup  of  sorrow;  as  a  stoic  he  drank  the  bitter 
draught;  but  in  his  last  hour  he  vainly  sought  a  priest, 

1  M.  Eudore  Soulie  (Recbercbes  sur  Moliere)  makes  the  following 
calculation  of  Moliere's  estate  from  the  inventory  taken  after  the  poet's 
death : 

Personal  effects,  furniture,  clothes,  plate,  etc.     .     1 8,000  livres 
Due  to  the  succession,   including    the    10,000 
livres    reclaimed    by    the    widow    from    the 
Poquelin  estate 25,000     «« 

Total 43,000     " 

Less  debts  amounting  to  about     .     .     .       3,000     " 


370  MOLlfiRE 

dying,  as  he  had  lived,  a  Christian  at  heart,  a  martyr  to 
intolerance. 

The  end  came  suddenly,  yet  nature  had  given  ample 
warning.  La  Grange  records  that  on  account  of  M  oliere's 
health  the  theatre  was  closed  from  the  ninth  to  the 
twelfth  of  August,  1672.  His  illness  had  become  an 
atrophy,  and  his  friends  tried  in  vain  to  induce  him  to 
retire  from  the  stage.  "  I  make  it  a  point  of  honour  not 
to  give  up,"  he  told  Boileau  a  little  before  his  death,  and 
rather  than  listen  to  good  counsel  he  hurled  defiance  at 
disease.  His  enemies  had  satirised  him  as  a  hypochon- 
driac ;  so  he,  the  victim  of  an  incurable  malady,  placed 
upon  his  stage  an  imaginary  invalid,  —  "burdensome  to 
all  around,"  —  and  with  sardonic  humour  referred  to 
that  "  impertinent  fellow  Moliere  "  as  a  man  who  "  will 
prove  far  wiser  than  your  doctors,  for  he  will  never  de- 
mand their  help."  "  If  I  were  a  physician,"  says  the 
hypochondriac  of  his  play,  "  I  would  be  revenged  for 
Moliere's  impudence  by  letting  him  die  without  succour," 
—  an  eerie  prophecy,  since  scarcely  were  these  words 
uttered  upon  the  stage  than  the  doctors  were  avenged. 

Barred  from  the  St.  Germain  fetes  by  the  intrigues  of 
Lully,  'The  Imaginary  Invalid  was  produced  at  the  Palais 
Royal  on  the  tenth  of  February,  1673,  while  the  troupe 
of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  was  playing  Racine's  Mith- 
ridates  before  the  ungrateful  King.  During  the  fourth 
performance  of  Moliere's  play  (February  seventeenth) 
its  author  was  seized  with  a  convulsion  and  died  almost 
within  the  hour.  The  story  of  his  tragic  end  has  been  told 
by  Grimarest  with  a  terseness  and  pathos  hard  to  excel.1 

1  Baron,  from  whom  this  much  challenged  biographer  learned  his  facts, 
was  with  Moliere  at  the  time  of  his  death  ;  therefore  Grimarest' s  account 
of  this  event  may  be  accepted  with  considerable  reliance. 


DEATH  371 

It  appears  that  on  the  day  he  died 1  the  inflammation 
in  his  lungs  annoyed  him  more  than  usual ;  so,  sending 
for  his  wife,  he  told  her  in  Baron's  presence  :  "  So  long  as 
pain  and  pleasure  have  been  equally  present  in  my  life,  I 
had  thought  myself  happy  ;  but  now,"  he  protested,  "  I 
am  overwhelmed  with  troubles  and  have  not  a  moment 
either  of  enjoyment  or  rest.  I  see  plainly  that  I  must 
give  up  the  struggle.  I  cannot  hold  out  against  the 
pains  and  worries  which  leave  me  without  an  instant's 
peace  "  ;  then,  pondering  a  moment,  he  added,  "  How 
much  a  man  suffers  before  he  dies ! " 

His  wife  and  Baron  implored  him  with  tears  in  their 
eyes  not  to  act  that  day  ;  but  his  point  of  honour  proved 
unalterable.  "  What  can  I  do  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There 
are  fifty  poor  workpeople  who  live  on  their  day's  wage ; 
what  would  they  do  if  there  were  no  performance  ? " 

It  would  have  been  easy  for  a  man  of  his  means  to 
indemnify  these  poor  labourers  for  the  loss  of  a  day's 
pay,  yet  Moliere' s  heart  was  apparently  set  upon  dying 
in  harness,  since,  unmindful  of  the  protests  of  his  wife  and 
Baron,  he  sent  for  the  actors  of  his  company.  Telling 
them  that  his  health  was  worse  that  day,  he  warned  them 
that  he  "would  not  play  unless  all  was  in  readiness 
punctually  at  four  o'clock." 

At  the  hour  set  the  candles  were  lighted  and  the  cur- 
tain drawn ;  but  Moliere  played  his  part  with  difficulty, 
half  the  audience  perceiving  that  in  pronouncing  the 
word  jurOy  in  the  mock  ceremony  which  concludes  the 
play,  a  convulsion  had  seized  him.  That  fantastic  ballet 
became  indeed  a  dance  of  death ;  for  while  his  sham 

1  Grimarest  says  "on  the  day  of  the  third  performance  of  The  Imagi- 
nary Invalid"  although  Moliere  died  on  the  day  of  the  fourth  perform- 
ance, —  an  error  probably  due  to  Baron's  defective  memory. 


372  MOLIERE 

physicians,  apothecaries,  and  surgeons  grimaced  and 
pirouetted  in  mockery  of  those  so  powerless  to  arrest  the 
ebbing  of  his  life,  Moliere's  last  struggle  began.  It  was 
a  point  of  honour  not  to  give  up,  so  when  he  saw  that 
the  audience  had  noticed  his  agony,  "  he  forced  a  smile 
and  with  a  superhuman  effort  held  life  in  his  body  until 
the  curtain  fell." 

Tottering  then  to  Baron's  dressing-room,  he  asked 
characteristically  what  the  public  thought  of  the  piece. 
His  friend  assured  him  that  "  his  works  were  always 
immensely  successful  when  known,  and  that  the  more 
they  were  played,  the  more  they  were  liked " ;  then 
noticing  Moliere's  appearance,  he  remarked  that  he 
seemed  worse.  "  It  is  true,"  the  poet  answered,  "  I  am 
dying  of  cold."  Touching  his  hands,  Baron  found  them 
frozen  and  warmed  them  in  his  muff,1  while  he  sent  for 
his  friend's  sedan.  When  the  chair  came,  he  accompanied 
him  home,  "  fearful  lest  some  mishap  might  befall  him 
between  the  Palais  Royal  and  the  rue  Richelieu." 

Upon  reaching  his  friend's  apartment,  Baron  advised 
Moliere  to  take  some  of  the  beef  broth  his  wife  kept 
ready  for  her  own  use,  —  "  no  one,"  as  Grimarest  says, 
"  being  more  regardful  of  personal  comfort  than  she." 
"My  wife's  soups  are  like  brandy,"  the  poet  replied; 
"  you  know  all  the  ingredients  she  puts  in  them."  Ask- 
ing for  some  Parmesan  cheese  which  La  Forest  brought, 
he  ate  it  and  was  assisted  to  his  bed ;  then,  sending 
to  his  wife  for  a  pillow  filled  with  a  drug  "  she  had 
promised  would  make  him  sleep,"  he  remarked :  "  Any- 
thing which  does  not  enter  the  body  I  take  willingly,  but 
the  remedies  which  must  be  swallowed  alarm  me.  I  wish 
nothing  to  rob  me  of  the  little  life  I  have  left." 
1  An  article  at  that  time  carried  by  men  of  fashion. 


DEATH  373 

Seized  a  moment  later  with  a  fit  of  coughing,  he  asked 
for  a  light,  and  Baron,  seeing  he  had  a  haemorrhage, 
betrayed  such  alarm  that  Moliere  assured  him  he  need 
have  no  fear,  as  "  he  had  already  seen  far  more. 
Still,"  the  dying  man  added,  "go  call  my  wife." 

Two  nuns  were  with  him  at  the  time,  "  of  the  kind  who 
were  wont  to  come  to  Paris  during  Lent  to  ask  for  char- 
ity." He  had  given  them  a  lodging  in  his  house,  and 
from  them  he  received  such  "  spiritual  comfort  as  might 
have  been  expected  from  their  charity,"  l  while,  in  the 
words  of  Grimarest,  "all  the  sentiments  of  a  good 
Christian  were  manifested  to  them,  together  with  the 
resignation  he  owed  to  the  will  of  God."  Suffocated 
at  last  by  the  blood  pouring  from  his  mouth,  he  drew 
his  final  breath  in  the  arms  of  those  two  good  women. 
When  his  wife  and  Baron  reached  the  room,  he  was  dead. 

The  petition  presented  the  archbishop  of  Paris  by  the 
poet's  widow  for  permission  to  bury  her  husband  in  con- 
secrated ground  adds  to  Grimarest's  account  of  Moliere"s 
death  the  fact  that  he  sent  to  the  parish  church  of  St. 
Eustache  for  a  priest.  When  two  ecclesiastics  had  in  turn 
refused  to  confess  him,  his  brother-in-law,  Jean  Aubry,2 
found  a  churchman  sufficiently  liberal  to  shrive  a  come- 
dian; but  he  arrived  too  late  to  administer  the  last 
sacraments.  Moliere,  however,  in  the  words  o-f  the 

1  As  Moliere's  half-sister,  Catherine  Poquelin,  as  well  as  a  cousin-,  of  his 
mother's,  was  a  nun,  M.  Soulie  (Rtcbercbts  sur  Moltire)  hints,  that  one 
of  these  relations,  at  least,  may  have  been  at  the  poet's  deathbed.  This 
suggestion  is  refuted  by  M.  Loiseleur  (Les  Points  obscurs  de  la  vie  de 
Moliere)  so  far  as  regards  Moliere's  sister,  with  the  contention  that  being 
a  nun  of  the  Convent  des  Visitandines,  the  cloistral  rules  of  that  order 
would  have  rendered  her  visit  to  Paris  impossible. 

2  The  husband  of  Genevieve  Bejart  and  the  son  of  Leonard  Aubry 
the  pavier,  who  endorsed  a  loan  of  the  ill-starred  "Illustrious  Theatre." 


374  MOLI£RE 

petition,  "  died  with  the  feelings  of  a  good  Christian 
manifested  in  the  presence  of  two  nuns  and  of  a  gentle- 
man named  M.  Couthon,1  in  whose  arms  he  expired." 
La  Grange  also  testifies  to  the  dramatist's  Christian  death. 
"  Immediately  after  the  play  was  over,"  says  the  preface 
of  1682,  "Moliere  went  home,  and  no  sooner  was  he 
in  bed  than  the  cough  which  troubled  him  perpetually 
became  violent.  The  efforts  he  made  to  suppress  it 
were  so  great  that  he  burst  a  vein  in  the  lungs,  and, 
finding  himself  in  that  condition,  turned  all  his  thoughts 
to  Heaven."  Furthermore,  Moliere's  wife  states  ex- 
plicitly in  her  petition  to  the  archbishop  that  her  husband 
had  been  shrived  at  Easter  by  M.  Bernard,  a  priest  of  the 
parish  of  St.  Germain,  —  certainly  sufficient  evidence  to 
prove  that  in  spite  of  his  liberal  views  and  hatred  of 
bigots  Moliere  was  no  unbeliever. 

As  actors  refusing  to  abandon  their  profession  were 
denied  the  right  of  communion,  together  with  cyprians, 
usurers,  and  sorcerers,  the  priest  who  confessed  Moliere 
at  Easter  did  so  in  disobedience  to  the  canons  of  the 
church.  According  to  Bossuet,2  "  those  who  played 
comedy  were  deprived  of  the  sacraments,  while  if  an 
actor  failed  to  renounce  his  calling,  his  place  at  the  Holy 
Table  was  among  c  the  public  sinners/  and  a  Christian 
burial  was  denied  him."  Regarding  Moliere's  death, 
the  great  preacher  exclaimed : 

Posterity  will  perhaps  know  the  end  of  this  actor  poet 
who  while  playing  his  Imaginary  Invalid,  or  his  Physician 
by  Force  (Medecin  par  force],  was  stricken  with  the  last 

1  Grimarest  fails  to  mention  this  M.  Couthon  ;  but  Baron,  his  inform- 
ant, probably  wished  it  to  appear  that  he  alone  attended  the  poet  in  his 
last  hour. 

2  Maximcs  et  reflexions  sur  la  comedie. 


DEATH  375 

attack  of  the  malady  from  which  he  died  a  few  hours 
later,  going  from  the  laughter  of  the  stage,  where  he 
uttered  almost  his  last  sigh,  to  the  tribunal  of  Him  who 
said :  "  Woe  unto  you  that  laugh  now  !  for  ye  shall 
mourn  and  weep." 

Such  intolerance  presents  the  story  of  Moliere 's  tragic 
burial  in  a  comprehensible  light.  "  As  soon  as  he  was 
dead,"  says  Grimarest,  "  Baron  went  to  St.  Germain  to 
inform  the  King,  who  was  touched  by  the  news  and 
deigned  to  show  it,"  —  apparently  a  wise  procedure, 
since  there  was  need  of  Louis'  good  graces;  the  vicar 
of  St.  Eustache  having  refused  to  perform  the  burial 
rites  because  of  the  dead  man's  profession.  The  widow 
addressed  a  petition  to  Harlay  de  Champvalon,  arch- 
bishop of  Paris,  in  which  she  set  forth  that  the  priests 
of  the  parish  had  refused  to  obey  the  call  of  a  dying  man 
who  had  received  the  sacrament  at  Easter,  and  begged 
that  a  dispensation  should  be  accorded  for  his  burial  in 
the  church  of  St.  Eustache  ;  but  this  plea  on  behalf  of 
the  author  of  Tbe  Hypocrite  would  doubtless  have  fallen 
on  deaf  ears,  had  not  the  King  plainly  shown  his  wish. 

Mme.  Moliere,  it  appears,  doubtful  of  the  result  of 
her  petition,  went  to  St.  Germain,  and  throwing  herself 
at  the  feet  of  Louis,  complained  of  "  the  insult  given  to 
the  memory  of  her  husband."  "  In  telling  the  King," 
says  Cizeron  Rival,1  "  that  if  her  husband  was  a  criminal 
his  crimes  were  authorised  by  his  Majesty  himself,  she 
paid  her  court  badly."  Moreover,  she  had  the  addi- 
tional misfortune  of  taking  with  her  the  vicar  of  Auteuil 
"  for  the  purpose  of  testifying  to  the  good  habits  of  the 
deceased."  Instead  of  speaking  in  behalf  of  Moliere, 
this  churchman  inopportunely  attempted  to  clear  himself 

1  Recreations  litteraircs. 


376  MOLIERE 

of  a  charge  of  Jansenism,  —  a  thoughtless  bit  of  egotism 
which  so  angered  the  King  that  he  dismissed  La  Moliere 
by  telling  her  that  the  matter  depended  entirely  upon 
the  ministration  of  the  archbishop. 

It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  a  woman  of  her  worldly 
experience  could  have  been  so  tactless.  Indeed,  in  an- 
other version  of  the  affair,1  Louis  is  reported  to  have 
referred  her  to  the  archbishop  without  this  apparent 
brusqueness.  Moreover,  the  prelate  was  informed  that  he 
must  proceed  "  in  a  manner  calculated  to  avoid  disturb- 
ance and  scandal,"  whereupon  the  interdiction  was  re- 
voked on  condition  that  the  "  burial  should  take  place 
without  pomp  or  noise/'  According  to  still  another 
account  of  the  affair,2  Louis,  upon  refusal  of  the  vicar 
of  St.  Eustache  to  bury  Moliere  in  consecrated  ground, 
asked  to  what  depth  it  was  consecrated,  and  learning 
that  it  was  so  to  a  depth  of  four  feet,  replied :  "  Very 
well,  bury  him  at  six  feet  and  let  there  be  no  more 
dispute  about  it." 

Whatever  the  truth  regarding  these  various  versions 
of  Mme.  Moliere's  efforts  to  obtain  Christian  burial  for 
her  husband,  a  line  in  Boileau's  Seventh  Epistle  in  which 
he  speaks  of  his  dead  friend  as  having  been  buried  in 
"  a  bit  of  earth  obtained  by  supplication,"  indicates  that 
Louis  was  appealed  to  in  the  matter ;  for  the  spirit  in 
which  Moliere  was  accorded  a  burial  in  consecrated 
ground  shows  that  the  archbishop,  if  left  to  his  own 
devices,  would  have  sustained  the  vicar  of  St.  Eustache. 
In  finally  authorising  the  interment  his  Grace  ordered 

1  Note  by  Brossette  to  Verse  nineteen  of  Boileau's  Seventh  Epistle 
((Euvres  de  M.  Boileau  Despreaux,  1716). 

2  Quoted   by   M.    Mesnard    (Notice  biograpbique)  from  Le   Musee 
des  Monuments  fran$ais  by  Alexandre  Lenoir. 


DEATH  377 

that  it  be  accompanied  by  "  no  pomp,  with  only  two 
officiating  priests,  and  that  it  must  be  performed  after 
dark,  unaccompanied  by  any  service  either  in  the  parish 
of  St.  Eustache  or  elsewhere." 

Owing  to  this  unseemly  controversy,  the  burial  did 
not  take  place  until  four  days  after  Moliere's  death.  \ 
On  February  twenty-first,  1673,  at  nme  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  the  cortege  started  on  its  silent  journey  to  the 
cemetery  of  St.  Joseph,  a  dependency  of  the  parish  of 
St.  Eustache.  Bent  upon  creating  a  disturbance,  a  mob 
had  gathered  before  the  dead  man's  house  in  the  rue 
Richelieu,  and,  according  to  Grimarest,  Moliere's  widow, 
acting  upon  the  advice  of  friends,  threw  a  hundred 
pistoles  in  gold  from  her  window  to  mollify  the  rioters, 
imploring  them  meanwhile  in  a  few  touching  words  to 
pray  for  her  husband's  soul. 

By  the  light  of  a  hundred  torches  the  solemn  proces- 
sion moved  in  silence  to  the  burial  ground.  To  divest 
it  of  the  taint  of  stagecraft,  the  wooden  coffin,  carried 
by  four  bearers,  was  covered  with  the  pall  of  the  up- 
holsterer's guild.  Three  priests  *  accompanied  the  re- 
mains, six  acolytes  bore  lighted  candles  in  silver  sticks, 

1  These  details  of  Moliere's  funeral  are  taken  from  a  letter  (ap- 
parently anonymous)  addressed  to  Monsieur  Boyvin,  prfare  docteur  en 
tbeologie,  published  in  1850  by  Benjamin  Fillon  in  his  Considerations  bis- 
toriques  et  artistiques  sur  les  monnaies  de  France.  M.  Mesnard  (Notice 
biograpbique  sur  Meliere)  remarks  that  the  letter,  although  not  signed,  is 
sealed  with  a  wax  seal  and  has  every  appearance  of  being  authentic.  In  the 
matter  of  the  three  priests,  however,  there  is  a  slight  discrepancy  in  this 
account  with  the  one  given  by  Brossette  in  his  note  to  Boileau's  Seventh 
Epistle  (CEuvres  de  M.  Boileau  Despreaux'),  wherein  he  states  that  the 
ceremony  was  performed  by  "  two  priests,  who  accompanied  the  remains 
without  chanting,"  —  a  statement  which  coincides  exactly  with  the 
archbishop's  proscriptions. 


378  MOLlfeRE 

and  a  number  of  lackeys  flaming  torches.  As  the  body 
was  carried  through  the  rue  Montmartre,  Grimarest 
asserts  that  some  one  asked  a  woman  in  the  crowd  the 
name  of  the  dead  man.  "  It 's  that  Moliere,"  she  re- 
plied derisively;  whereat  another  cried  out:  "Wretch, 
he  is  certainly  monsieur  to  you  !  "  When  the  cemetery 
was  finally  reached,  Moliere  was  buried  in  silence  at 
"  the  foot  of  the  cross,"  1  to  the  light  of  flaming  torches 
held  by  devoted  friends. 

Thus,  for  the  crime  of  having  been  an  actor,  this  great 
Frenchman  was  hounded  to  his  grave,  while  Armande 
Bejart,  remorseful  for  the  wrong  she  had  done  him, 
exclaimed  far  and  wide :  "  What !  a  sepulture  is  denied 
a  man  worthy  of  altars  ?  "  2 

This  tardily  repentant  wife  married  an  actor  named 
Guerin  and  outlived  her  noted  husband  twenty-seven 
years  ;  Esprit-Madeleine,  the  poet's  one  surviving  child, 
married  a  widower  named  Montalant,  many  years  her 
senior,  and  died  without  issue ;  so  Moliere's  race  is 
extinct.  Soon  after  his  death  Lully,  his  ungrateful 
collaborator  in  ballets  for  the  court,  obtained,  for  the 
opera,  the  theatre  in  the  Palais  Royal ;  in  consequence 
his  comrades  were  forced  to  set  up  their  trestles  once 
more  in  a  tennis-court.  In  the  rue  Guenegaud  his 
widow  and  those  of  his  actors  who  had  not  deserted  to 

1  In  1792  what  were  thought  to  be  the  remains  of  Moliere  and  La 
Fontaine  were  exhumed  from  the  cemetery  of  St.  Joseph ;  in  1 799  they 
were  placed  by  Alexandre  Lenoir  in  his  Museum  of  French  Monuments 
at  the  Convent  of  the  Petits  Augustins  ;  in  1817  they  were  entombed  in 
the  cemetery  of  Pere  La  Chaise  ;  while  in  1875  the  mausoleums  of  these 
great   Frenchmen   were  both  restored;   but  M.    Mesnard    (Notice  bio- 
grapbique)  is  of  the  opinion  that  they  are  both  cenotaphs. 

2  Note  by  Brossette  to  Boileau's  Seventh  Epistle   ((Euvres  de  M. 
Boileau  Despreaux). 


.A  f ' .« 


f 


What  !  A  sepulture  is  denied  a  man  worthy  of  altars  !  " 


DEATH  379 

the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  continued  to  play  the  pieces 
of  the  master  with  indifferent  success,  until  forced  by 
financial  losses  to  unite  with  the  comedians  of  the  Theatre 
du  Marais ;  then  the  Theatre  Guenegaud  became  the 
sole  rival  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne. 

In   1680  Louis  XI V,  grown  austere  from  advancing 
years    and    the    influence    of   Madame    de    Maintenon, 
decided  that  one  theatre  was  sufficient  for  the  amusement 
of  the  citizens  of  Paris ;  so  by  royal  decree  the  compa- 
nies of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  and  the  Theatre  Guene- 
gaud  were   amalgamated.      Thus   united,    the    national 
French  theatre,  save  for  a  short  disruption  during  the    , 
Revolution,  has  existed  to  our  day.    In  recognition  of  its  / 
greatest  founder,  it  is  known  as  the  House  of  Moliere  ;  : 
for  no  other  age,  and  no  other  country,   has  brought  \ 
forth  a  claimant  worthy  of  the  throne  of  comedy  Moliere  j 
left  vacant. 


APPENDIX 

FRENCH    ORIGINALS   OF  VERSES 
TRANSLATED    IN   TEXT 

P.  23. 

Ton  Hercule  mourant  te  va  rendre  immortel ; 
Au  ciel,  comme  en  la  terre,  il  publiera  ta  gloire, 
Et  laissant  ici-bas  un  temple  a  ta  memoire, 
Son  bucher  servira  pour  te  faire  un  autel. 

Verses  by  Madeleine  Be/art  in  dedication  to 
Rotrou's  Hercule  Mourant. 

p.  33. 

Deja,  dans  la  troupe  royale 

Beauchateau,  devenu  plus  vain, 

S'impatiente  s'il  n'etale 

Le  present  qu'il  a  de  ta  main. 

La  Bejart,  Beys  et  Moliere, 

Brillants  de  pareille  lumiere, 

M'en  paroissent  plus  orgueilleux ; 

Et  depuis  cette  gloire  extreme, 

Je  n'ose  plus  m'approcher  d'eux 

Si  ta  rare  bonte  ne  me  pare  de  meme. 

From  anonymous  collection  of  poetry 
printed  in  164.6. 

p.  63. 

MASCARILLE 

.  .  .  Ce  qui  me  donne  un  depit  nonpareil, 
C'est  qu'ici  votre  amour  etrangement  s*oublie ; 
Pres  de  Clelie,  il  est  ainsi  que  la  bouillie, 
Qui  par  un  trop  grand  feu  s'enfle,  croit  jusqu'aux  bords, 
Et  de  tous  les  cotes  se  repand  au  dehors. 


382  APPENDIX 

LELIE 

Pourroit-on  se  forcer  a  plus  de  retenue  ? 
Je  ne  1'ai  presque  point  encore  entretenue. 

MASCARILLE 

Oui,  mais  ce  n'est  pas  tout  que  de  ne  parler  pas  : 
Par  vos  gestes,  durant  un  moment  de  repas, 
Vous  avez  aux  soupcons  donne  plus  de  matiere, 
Que  d'autres  ne  feroient  dans  une  annee  entiere. 

LELIE 
Et  comment  done  ? 

MASCARILLE 

Comment  ?  chacun  a  pu  le  voir. 
A  table,  ou  Trufaldin  1'oblige  de  se  seoir, 
Vous  n'avez  toujours  fait  qu'avoir  les  yeux  sur  elle. 
Rouge,  tout  interdit,  jouant  de  la  prunelle, 
Sans  prendre  jamais  garde  a  ce  qu'on  vous  servoit, 
Vous  n'aviez  point  de  soif  qu'alors  qu'elle  buvoit, 
Et  dans  ses  propres  mains  vous  saisissant  du  verre, 
Sans  le  vouloir  rincer,  sans  rien  jeter  a  terre, 
Vous  buviez  sur  son  reste,  et  montriez  d'affecter 
Le  cote  qu'a  sa  bouche  elle  avoit  su  porter. 

UEtourdi,  Acte  IV,  scene  iv. 
P.  74- 

Avide  observateur,  qui  voulez  tout  savoir, 
Des  anes  de  Gignac  c'est  ici  Pabreuvoir. 

Histoire  des  peregrinations  de  Moliere  dans  le 
Languedoc  par  Emmanuel  Raymond. 

p.  83. 

Marquise,  si  mon  visage 
A  quelques  traits  un  peu  vieux, 
Souvenez-vous  qu'a  mon  age 
Vous  ne  vaudrez  guere  mieux,  etc. 

Poesies  diverses  by  Pierre  Corneille. 


ORIGINALS   OF  VERSES   IN   TEXT    383 

P.  87. 

Get  illustre  comedian, 
Atteignit  de  son  art  Pagreable  maniere. 
II  fut  le  maitre  de  Moliere 
Et  la  nature  fut  le  sien. 

Quatrain  printed  beneath  a  portrait  of 
Scaramouche  by  Vermeulen. 

p.  87. 

.  .  .  Par  exemple,  Elomire 
Veut  se  rendre  parfait  dans  Tart  de  faire  rire ; 
Que  fait-il,  le  matois,  dans  ce  hardy  dessein  ? 
Chez  le  grand  Scaramouche,  il  va  soir  et  matin. 
La,  le  miroir  en  main  et  ce  grand  homme  en  face, 
II  n'est  contorsion,  posture  ny  grimace 
Que  ce  grand  ecolier  du  plus  grand  des  bouffons 
Ne  fasse  et  ne  refasse  en  cent  et  cent  facons. 

« 

Elomire  kypocondre  by  Eoulanger 

de  Cbalussay. 
P.  90. 

Que  faut-il  encor  que  je  die  ? 
Les  violons,  la  comedie. 

Muse  historique^  April  /p,  l6jp. 

P.    112. 

MASCARILLE 

Oh,  oh  !  je  n'y  prenois  pas  garde : 
Tandis  que,  sans  songer  a  mal,  je  vous  regarde, 
Votre  ceil  en  tapinois  me  derobe  mon  coeur 
Au  voleur,  au  voleur,  au  voleur,  au  voleur ! 

Les  Pr'ecieuses  ridicules^  scene  ix. 

P.  120. 

LA  FEMME  DE  SGANARELLE 

Voila  de  nos  maris  le  precede  commun  : 
Ce  qui  leur  est  permis  leur  devient  importun. 
Dans  les  commencements  ce  sont  toutes  merveilles ; 
Us  temoignent  pour  nous  des  ardeurs  non  pareilles ; 
Mais  les  traitres  bientot  se  lassent  de  nos  feux, 


384  APPENDIX 

Et  portent  autre  part  ce  qu'ils  doivent  chez  eux. 

Ah  !  que  j'ai  de  depit  que  la  loi  n'autorise 

A  changer  de  mari  comme  on  fait  de  chemise ! 

Sganarelle,  ou  le  Cocu  Imaglnalre,  scene  v. 

P.  128. 

Savoir  I* E cole  des  marls, 
Charme  a  present  de  tout  Paris, 
Piece  nouvelle  et  fort  prisee 
Que  sieur  M r oiler  a  composee, 
Sujet  si  riant  et  si  beau, 
Qu'il  fallut  qu'a  Fontainebleau 
Cette  troupe,  ayant  la  pratique 
Du  serieux  et  du  comique, 
Pour  Reines  et  Roi  contenter 
L'allat  encor  representer. 

Loret  In  Muse  bistorique. 

p.  .3*. 

UNE  NAIADE 

Facheux,  retirez-vous,  ou  s'il  faut  qu'il  vous  voie, 
Que  ce  soit  seulement  pour  exciter  sa  joie. 

Les  Facheux:   Prologue. 

p.  i34. 

Nous  avons  change  de  methode : 
Jodelet  n'est  plus  a  la  mode, 
Et  maintenant  il  ne  faut  pas 
Quitter  la  nature  d'un  pas. 

Letter  of  La  Fontaine  to  Maucroix. 

P.  138. 

Voila  Thistoire ;  que  t'en  semble  ? 
Crois-tu  pas  qu'un  homme  avise 
Voit  par  la  qu'il  n'est  pas  aise 
D'accorder  trois  femmes  ensemble  ? 
Fais-en  done  ton  profit ;  surtout 
Tiens-toi  neutre,  et,  tout  plein  d'Homere, 
Dis-toi  bien  qu'en  vain  Phomme  espere 


ORIGINALS   OF   VERSES   IN   TEXT     385 

Pouvoir  venir  jamais  a  bout 

De  ce  qu'un  grand  dieu  n'a  su  faire. 

Letter  of  Chapelle  to  Moliere. 
P.  139. 

ARISTE 

.  ,  .  II  nous  faut  en  riant  instruire  la  jeunesse, 

Reprendre  ses  defauts  avec  grande  douceur, 

Et  du  nom  de  vertu  ne  lui  point  faire  peur. 

Mes  soins  pour  Leonor  ont  suivi  ces  maximes : 

Des  moindres  libertes  je  n'ai  point  fait  des  crimes, 

A  ses  jeunes  desirs  j'ai  toujours  consenti, 

Et  je  ne  m'en  suis  point,  grace  au  Ciel,  repenti. 

J'ai  souffert  qu'elle  ait  vu  les  belles  compagnies, 

Les  divertissements,  les  bals,  les  comedies ; 

Ce  sont  choses,  pour  moi,  que  je  tiens  de  tout  temps 

Fort  propres  a  former  Pesprit  des  jeunes  gens ; 

Et  Pecole  du  monde,  en  Fair  dont  il  faut  vivre 

Instruit  mieux,  a  mon  gre,  que  ne  fait  aucun  livre. 

Elle  aime  a  depenser  en  habits,  linge  et  noeuds : 

Que  voulez-vous  ?     Je  tache  a  contenter  ses  voeux ; 

Et  ce  sont  des  plaisirs  qu'on  peut,  dans  nos  families, 

Lorsque  1'on  a  du  bien,  permettre  aux  jeunes  filles. 

Un  ordre  paternel  1'oblige  a  m'epouser ; 

Mais  mon  dessein  n'est  pas  de  la  tyranniser. 

Je  sais  bien  que  nos  ans  ne  se  rapportent  guere, 

Et  je  laisse  a  son  choix  liberte  tout  entiere. 

Si  quatre  mille  ecus  de  rente  bien  venants, 

Une  grande  tendresse  et  des  soins  complaisants 

Peuvent,  a  son  avis,  pour  un  tel  mariage, 

Reparer  entre  nous  1'inegalite  d'age, 

Elle  peut  m'epouser ;  sinon,  choisir  ailleurs. 

L? Ecole  des  marls,  Acte  I,  scene  ii* 

p.  .53. 

DONE  ELVIRE 

L'hymen  ne  peut  nous  joindre,  et  j'abhorre  des  noeuds 
Qui  deviendroient  sans  doute  un  enfer  pour  tous  deux. 

Don  Garde  de  Navarre,  Acte  I,  scene  i. 
25 


j86  APPENDIX 

P.  158. 

ARNOLPHE 

£pouser  une  sotte  est  pour  n'etre  sot. 

Je  crois,  en  bon  chretien,  votre  moitie  fort  sage ; 

Mais  une  femme  habile  est  un  mauvais  presage; 

Et  je  sais  ce  qu'il  coute  a  de  certaines  gens 

Pour  avoir  pris  les  leurs  avec  trop  de  talens. 

Moi,  j'irois  me  charger  d'une  spirituelle 

Qui  ne  parleroit  rien  que  cercle  et  que  ruelle, 

Qui  de  prose  et  de  vers  feroit  de  doux  ecrits, 

Et  que  visiteroient  marquis  et  beaux  esprits, 

Tandis  que,  sous  le  nom  du  mari  de  Madame, 

Je  serois  comme  un  saint  que  pas  un  ne  reclame  ? 

Non,  non,  je  ne  veux  point  d'un  esprit  qui  soit  haut ; 

Et  femme  qui  compose  en  sait  plus  qu'il  ne  faut. 

Je  pretends  que  la  mienne,  en  clartes  peu  sublime, 

Meme  ne  sache  pas  ce  que  c'est  qu'une  rime ; 

Et  s'il  faut  qu'avec  elle  on  joue  au  corbillon 

Et  qu'on  vienne  a  lui  dire  a  son  tour:  "  Qu'y  met-on  ?  " 

Je  veux  qu'elle  reponde  :  "  Une  tarte  a  la  creme" ; 

En  un  mot,  qu'elle  soit  d'une  ignorance  extreme; 

Et  c'est  assez  pour  elle,  a  vous  en  bien  parler, 

De  savoir  prier  Dieu,  m'aimer,  coudre  et  filer. 

L'ficole  desfemmes,  Acte  I,  scene  i. 
P.  159. 

ARNOLPHE 

Dans  un  petit  couvent,  loin  de  toute  pratique, 
Je  la  fis  clever  selon  ma  politique ; 
C'est-a-dire  ordonnant  quels  soins  on  emploiroit 
Pour  la  rendre  idiote  autant  qu'il  se  pourroit. 
Dieu  merci,  le  succes  a  suivi  mon  attente; 
Et  grande,  je  Tai  vue  a  tel  point  innocente, 
Que  j'ai  beni  le  Ciel  d'avoir  trouve  mon  fait, 
Pour  me  faire  une  femme  au  gre  de  mon  souhatt. 

L'Ecole  des  femmes,  Acte  I,  scene  i. 
P.  161. 

ARNOLPHE 

Pourquoi  ne  m'aimer  pas,  Madame  Fimpudente? 


ORIGINALS  OF  VERSES  IN  TEXT     387 

AGNES 

Mon  Dieu,  ce  n'est  pas  moi  que  vous  devez  blamer  : 
Que  ne  vous  etes-vous,  comme  lui,  fait  aimer  ? 
Je  ne  vous  en  ai  pas  empeche,  que  je  pense. 

ARNOLPHE 

Je  m'y  suis  efforce  de  toute  ma  puissance ; 
Mais  les  soins  que  j'ai  pris,  je  les  ai  perdus  tous. 

AGNES 

Vraiment,  il  en  sait  done  la-dessus  plus  que  vous ; 
Car  a  se  faire  aimer  il  n'a  point  eu  de  peine. 

UEcolt  des  femmes,  Acte  V,  scene  iv. 

P'  l6l<  ARNOLPHE 

£coute  seulement  ce  soupir  amoureux, 

Vois  ce  regard  mourant,  contemple  ma  personne, 

Et  quitte  ce  morveux  et  Pamour  qu'il  te  donne. 

C'est  quelque  sort  qu'il  faut  qu'il  ait  jete  sur  toi, 

Et  tu  seras  cent  fois  plus  heureuse  avec  moi. 

Ta  forte  passion  est  d'etre  brave  et  leste : 

Tu  le  seras  toujours,  va,  je  te  le  proteste ; 

Sans  cesse,  nuit  et  jour,  je  te  caresserai, 

Je  te  bouchonnerai,  baiserai,  mangerai ; 

Tout  comme  tu  voudras,  tu  pourras  te  conduire : 

Je  ne  m'explique  point,  et  cela,  c'est  tout  dire. 

(A  part.)  Jusqu'ou  la  passion  peut-elle  faire  aller! 

Enfin  a  mon  amour  rien  ne  peut  s'egaler  : 

Quelle  preuve  veux-tu  que  je  t'en  donne,  ingrate  ? 

Me  veux-tu  voir  pleurer  ?     Veux-tu  que  je  me  batte  ? 

Veux-tu  que  je  m'arrache  un  cote  de  cheveux  ? 

Veux-tu  que  je  me  tue  ?     Oui,  dis  si  tu  le  veux : 

Je  suis  tout  pret,  cruelle,  a  te  prouver  ma  flamme. 

£ 

U Ecole  des  femmes,  Acte  V,  scene  iv. 

P'  l64'  CHRYSALDE 

Vous  pensez  vous  moquer;  mais,  a  ne  vous  rien  feindre, 
Dans  le  monde  je  vois  cent  choses  plus  a  craindre 


j88  APPENDIX 

Et  dont  je  me  ferois  un  bien  plus  grand  malheur 
Que  de  cet  accident  qui  vous  fait  tant  de  peur. 
Pensez-vous  qu'a  choisir  de  deux  choses  prescrites, 
Je  n'aimasse  pas  mieux  etre  ce  que  vous  dites, 
Que  de  me  voir  mari  de  ces  femmes  de  bien, 
Dont  la  mauvaise  humeur  fait  un  proces  sur  rien, 
Ces  dragons  de  vertu,  ces  honnetes  diablesses, 
Se  retranchant  toujours  sur  leurs  sages  prouesses, 
Qui,  pour  un  petit  tort  qu'elles  ne  nous  font  pas, 
Prennent  droit  de  traiter  les  gens  de  haut  en  bas, 
Et  veulent,  sur  le  pied  de  nous  etre  fideles, 
Que  nous  soyons  tenus  a  tout  endurer  d'elles  ? 
Encore  un  coup,  compere,  apprenez  qu'en  effet 
Le  cocuage  n'est  que  ce  que  Ton  le  fait, 
Qu'on  peut  souhaiter  pour  de  certaines  causes, 
Et  qu'il  a  ses  plaisirs  comme  les  autres  choses. 

L' Ecole  des  femmes,  Acte  IV,  scene  viii, 

P-  l64-  ALAIN 

La  femme  est  en  effet  le  potage  de  Thomme ; 
Et  quand  un  homme  voit  d'autres  hommes  parfois 
Qui  veulent  dans  sa  soupe  aller  tremper  leurs  doigts, 
II  en  montre  aussitot  une  colere  extreme. 

U  Ecole  des  femmes,  Acte  II,  scene  iii. 

'  *    5-  ARNOLPHE 

Je  sais  les  tours  ruses  et  les  subtiles  trames 

Dont  pour  nous  en  planter,  savent  user  les  femmes, 

Et  comme  on  est  dupe  par  leurs  dexterites. 

U  Ecole  des  femmes,  Acte  I,  scene  i. 

*       *'  ARNOLPHE 

Quoi  ?  j'aurai  dirige  son  education 

Avec  tant  de  tendresse  et  de  precaution, 

Je  1'aurai  fait  passer  chez  moi  des  son  enfance, 

Et  j'en  aurai  cheri  la  plus  tendre  esperance ; 

Mon  coeur  aura  bati  sur  ses  attraits  naissans 

Et  cru  la  mitonner  pour  moi  durant  treize  ans, 


ORIGINALS  OF  VERSES  IN  TEXT     389 

Afin  qu'un  jeune  fou  dont  elle  s'amourache 
Me  la  vienne  enlever  jusque  sur  la  moustache, 
Lorsqu'elle  est  avec  moi  mariee  a  demi ! 
Non,  parbleu  !   non,  parbleu  ! 

DEcole  des  femmes,  Acte  IV,  scene  i. 

P-  l66'  ARNOLPHE 

Ce  mot  et  ce  regard  desarme  ma  colere, 

Et  produit  un  retour  de  tendresse  et  de  coeur, 

Qui  de  son  action  m'efface  la  noirceur. 

Chose  etrange  d'aimer,  et  que  pour  ces  traitresses 

Les  hommes  soient  sujets  a  de  telles  foiblesses  ! 

Tout  le  monde  connoit  leur  imperfection : 

Ce  n'est  qu'extravagance  et  qu'indiscretion ; 

Leur  esprit  est  mechant,  et  leur  ame  fragile ; 

II  n'est  rien  de  plus  foible  et  de  plus  imbecile, 

Rien  de  plus  infidele  :  et  malgre  tout  cela, 

Dans  le  monde  on  fait  tout  pour  ces  animaux-la. 

He  bien  !   faisons  la  paix.     Va,  petite  traitresse, 

Je  te  pardonne  tout  et  te  rends  ma  tendresse. 

Considere  par  la  1'amour  que  j'ai  pour  toi, 

Et  me  voyant  si  bon,  en  revanche  aime-moi. 

UEcole  des  femmes,  Acte  V,  scene  iv. 

P>  l67-  III    MAXIME 

Loin  ces  etudes  d'oeillades, 

Ces  eaux,  ces  blancs,  ces  pommades, 
Et  mille  ingredients  qui  font  des  teints  fleuris : 
A  1'honneur,  tous  les  jours,  ce  sont  drogues  mortelles ; 

Et  les  soins  de  paroitre  belles 

Se  prennent  peu  pour  les  maris. 

IV    MAXIME 

Sous  sa  coiffe,  en  sortant,  comme  1'honneur  1'ordonne, 
II  faut  que  de  ses  yeux  elle  etouffe  les  coups ; 
Car,  pour  bien  plaire  a  son  epoux, 
Elle  ne  doit  plaire  a  personne. 

U Ecole  des  femmes,  Acte  III,  scene  ii. 


390  APPENDIX 

P.  169. 

Piece  qu'en  plusieurs  lieux  on  fronde, 
Mais  ou  pourtant  va  tant  de  monde, 
Que  jamais  sujet  important 
Pour  le  voir  n'en  attira  tant. 

Loret  in  Muse  bistorique. 
P.  169. 

Laisse  gronder  tes  envieux: 

Us  ont  beau  crier  en  tous  lieux 

Qu'en  vain  tu  charmes  le  vulgaire, 

Que  tes  vers  n'ont  rien  de  plaisant ; 

Si  tu  ne  savois  un  peu  moins  plaire, 

Tu  ne  leur  deplairois  pas  tant. 

Boileau  :    Stanzas  to  Moliere. 
P.  184. 

Mais  les  grands  princes  n'aiment  gueres 
Que  les  compliments  qui  sont  courts ; 
Et  le  notre  surtout  a  bien  d'autres  affaires 

Que  d'ecouter  tous  vos  discours. 
La  louange  et  1'encens  n'est  pas  ce  qui  le  touche ; 

Des  que  vous  ouvrirez  la  bouche 
Pour  lui  parler  de  grace  et  de  bienfait, 
II  comprendra  d'abord  ce  que  vous  voudrez  dire, 

Et  se  mettant  doucement  a  sourire 
D'un  air  qui  sur  les  coeurs  fait  un  charmant  effet, 
II  passera  comme  un  trait, 
Et  cela  vous  doit  suffire  : 
Voila  votre  compliment  fait. 

Remerclment  au  Roi. 
P.  203. 

DORINE 

Mais  il  est  devenu  comme  un  homme  hebete 

Depuis  que  de  Tartuffe  on  le  voit  entete ; 

II  Pappelle  son  frere,  et  Taime  dans  son  ame 

Cent  fois  plus  qu'il  ne  fait  mere,  fils,  fille,  et  femme. 

C'est  de  tous  ses  secrets  1'unique  confident, 

Et  de  ses  actions  le  directeur  prudent ; 

II  le  choie,  il  Pembrasse;  et  pour  une  maitresse 


ORIGINALS   OF   VERSES   IN   TEXT    391 

On  ne  sauroit,  je  pense,  avoir  plus  de  tendresse : 

A  table,  au  plus  haut  bout  il  veut  qu'il  soit  assis ; 

Avec  joie  il  Py  voit  manger  autant  que  six ; 

Les  bons  morceaux  de  tout,  il  faut  qu'on  les  lui  cede; 

Et,  s'il  vient  a  roter,  il  lui  dit :  "  Dieu  vous  aide." 

Enfin  il  en  est  fou ;  c'est  son  tout,  son  heros ; 

II  Padmire  a  tous  coups,  le  cite  a  tous  propos ; 

Ses  moindres  actions  lui  semblent  des  miracles, 

Et  tous  les  mots  qu'il  dit  sont  pour  lui  des  oracles. 

Lui,  qui  connoit  sa  dupe,  et  qui  veut  en  jouir, 

Par  cent  dehors  fardes  a  Part  de  Peblouir ; 

Son  cagotisme  en  tire  a  toute  heure  des  sommes. 

Et  prend  droit  de  gloser  sur  tous  tant  que  nous  sommes. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  I,  scene  ii. 

P.  205. 

ORGON 

Mon  frere,  vous  seriez  charme  de  le  connoitre; 

Et  vos  ravissements  ne  prendroient  point  de  fin. 

C'est  un  homme  ...  qui ...  ha  ! ...  un  homme  ...  un  homme  enfin 

Qui  suit  bien  ses  lemons,  goute  une  paix  profonde, 

Et  comme  du  fumier  regarde  tout  le  monde. 

Oui,  je  deviens  tout  autre  avec  son  entretien ; 

II  m'enseigne  a  n'avoir  affection  pour  rien ; 

De  toutes  amities  il  detache  mon  ame ; 

Et  je  verrois  mourir  frere,  enfants,  mere,  et  femme, 

Que  je  m'en  soucierois  autant  que  de  cela. 

CLEANTE 
Les  sentiments  humains,  mon  frere,  que  voila  ! 

ORGON 

Ah  \  si  vous  aviez  vu  comme  j'en  fis  rencontre, 
Vous  auriez  pris  pour  lui  Pamitie  que  je  montre. 
Chaque  jour  a  Peglise  il  venoit,  d'un  air  doux, 
Tout  vis-a-vis  de  moi  se  mettre  a  deux  genoux. 
II  attiroit  les  yeux  de  Passemblee  entiere 
Par  Pardeur  dont  au  ciel  il  poussoit  sa  priere ; 


392  APPENDIX 

II  faisoit  des  soupirs,  de  grands  elancements, 

Et  baisoit  humblement  la  terre  a  tous  moments  : 

Et  lorsque  je  sortois,  il-  me  devancoit  vite 

Pour  m'aller,  a  la  porte,  offrir  de  1'eau  benite. 

Instruit  par  son  garden,  qui  dans  tout  Pimitoit, 

Et  de  son  indigence,  et  de  ce  qu'il  etoit, 

Je  lui  faisois  des  dons  ;  mais,  avec  modestie, 

II  me  vouloit  toujours  en  rendre  une  partie. 

C'est  trop,  me  disoit-il,  c'est  trap  de  la  moitie  ; 

ye  ne  m'erite  pas  de  vous  faire  pi  tie. 

Et  quand  je  refusois  de  le  vouloir  reprendre, 

Aux  pauvres,  a  mes  yeux,  il  alloit  le  repandre. 

Enfin  le  Ciel  chez  moi  me  le  fit  retirer 

Et  depuis  ce  temps-la  tout  semble  y  prosperer. 

Je  vois  qu'il  reprend  tout,  et  qu'a  ma  femme  meme 

II  prend  pour  mon  honneur,  un  interet  extreme  ; 

II  m'avertit  des  gens  qui  lui  font  les  yeux  doux, 

Et  plus  que  moi  six  fois  il  s'en  montre  jaloux. 

Mais  vous  ne  croiriez  point  jusqu'ou  monte  son  zele  : 

II  s'impute  a  peche  la  moindre  bagatelle  ; 

Un  rien  presque  suffit  pour  le  scandaliser, 

Jusque-la  qu'il  se  vint  1'autre  jour  accuser 

D'avoir  pris  une  puce  en  faisant  sa  priere, 

Et  de  Pavoir  tuee  avec  trop  de  colere. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  I,  scene  v. 

P-  2°6' 


II  est  de  faux  devots  que  de  faux  braves  : 
Et,  comme  on  ne  voit  pas  qu'ou  Phonneur  les  conduit 
Les  vrais  braves  soient  ceux  qui  font  beaucoup  de  bruit, 
Les  bons  et  vrais  devots,  qu'on  doit  suivre  a  la  trace, 
Ne  sont  pas  ceux  aussi  qui  font  tant  de  grimace. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  I,  scene  v. 

-  2°6'  ORGON 

Enfin,  ma  fille,  il  faut  payer  d'obeissance  ; 
Et  montrer  pour  mon  choix  entiere  deference 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  II,  scene  ii. 


ORIGINALS    OF   VERSES   IN   TEXT     393 

P'  2°7-  MARIANE 

Un  pere,  je  1'avoue,  a  sur  nous  tant  d'empire, 
Que  je  n'ai  jamais  eu  la  force  de  rien  dire. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  II,  scene  iii. 

P*  2°7-  MARIANE 

Je  ne  vous  reponds  pas  des  volontes  d'un  pere ; 
Mais  je  ne  serai  point  a  d'autre  qu'a  Valere. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  II,  scene  iv. 

P'  2°8'  TARTUFFE 

Laurent,  serrez  ma  haire  avec  ma  discipline, 
Et  priez  que  toujours  le  ciel  vous  illumine. 
Si  1'on  vient  pour  me  voir,  je  vais  aux  prisonniers, 
Des  aumones  que  j'ai,  partager  les  deniers. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  III,  scene  ii. 

P-  2°8-  ELM.RE 

Pour  moi,  je  crois  qu'au  ciel  tendent  tous  vos  soupirs, 
Et  que  rien  ici-bas  n'arrete  vos  desirs. 

TARTUFFE 

L'amour  qui  nous  attache  aux  beautes  eternelles 
N'etoufFe  pas  en  nous  1'amour  des  temporelles : 
Nos  sens  facilement  peuvent  etre  charmes 
Des  ouvrages  parfaits  que  le  ciel  a  formes 
Ses  attraits  reflechis  brillent  dans  vos  pareilles ; 
Mais  il  etale  en  vous  ses  plus  rares  merveilles : 
II  a  sur  votre  face  epanche  des  beautes 
Dont  les  yeux  sont  surpris,  et  les  coeurs  transported ; 
Et  je  n'ai  pu  vous  voir,  parfaite  creature, 
Sans  admirer  en  vous  Fauteur  de  la  nature, 
Et  d'une  ardente  amour  sentir  mon  cceur  atteint, 
Au  plus  beau  des  portraits  ou  lui-meme  il  s'est  peint. 
D'abord  j'apprehendai  que  cette  ardeur  secrete 
Ne  fut  du  noir  esprit  une  surprise  adroite ; 
Et  meme  a  fuir  vos  yeux  mon  cceur  se  resolut, 


394  APPENDIX 

Vous  croyant  un  obstacle  a  faire  mon  salut. 

Mais  enfin  je  connus,  6  beaute  tout  aimable, 

Que  cette  passion  peut  n'etre  point  coupable, 

Que  je  puis  1'ajuster  avecque  la  pudeur, 

Et  c'est  ce  qui  m'y  fait  abandonner  mon  coeur. 

Ce  m'est,  je  le  confesse,  une  audace  bien  grande 

Que  d'oser  de  ce  coeur  vous  adresser  1'offrande ; 

Mais  j'attends  en  mes  vceux  tout  de  votre  bonte, 

Et  rien  des  vains  efforts  de  mon  infirmite. 

En  vous  est  mon  espoir,  mon  bien,  ma  quietude ; 

De  vous  depend  ma  peine  ou  ma  beatitude ; 

Et  je  vais  etre  enfin,  par  votre  seul  arret, 

Heureux,  si  vous  voulez ;  malheureux,  s'il  vous  plait. 

ELMIRE 

La  declaration  est  tout  a  fait  galante; 

Mais  elle  est,  a  vrai  dire,  un  peu  bien  surprenante. 

Vous  deviez,  ce  me  semble,  armer  mieux  votre  sein, 

Et  raisonner  un  peu  sur  un  pareil  dessein. 

Un  devot  comme  vous,  et  que  partout  on  nomme  .  . 

TARTUFFE 

Ah  !  pour  etre  devot,  je  n'en  suis  pas  moins  homme : 
Et,  lorsqu'on  vient  a  voir  vos  celestes  appas, 
Un  coeur  se  laisse  prendre,  et  ne  raisonne  pas. 
Je  sais  qu'un  tel  discours  de  moi  paroit  etrange : 
Mais,  madame,  apres  tout,  je  ne  suis  pas  un  ange ; 
Et,  si  vous  condamnez  Paveu  que  je  vous  fais,  ~ 
Vous  devez  vous  en  prendre  a  vos  charmants  attraits 
Des  que  j'en  vis  briller  la  splendeur  plus  qu'humaine, 
De  mon  interieur  vous  futes  souveraine ; 
De  vos  regards  divins  1'ineffable  douceur 
For^a  la  resistance  ou  s'obstinoit  mon  coeur ; 
Elle  surmonta  tout,  jeunes,  prieres,  larmes, 
Et  tourna  tous  mes  voeux  du  cote  de  vos  charmes. 
Mes  yeux  et  mes  soupirs  vous  Pont  dit  mille  fois  ; 
Et,  pour  mieux  m'expliquer,  j  'emploie  ici  la  voix. 
Que  si  vous  contemplez,  d'une  ame  un  peu  beiiigne, 


ORIGINALS   OF   VERSES   IN   TEXT    395 

Les  tribulations  de  votre  esclave  indigne ; 

S'  il  faut  que  vos  home's  veuillent  me  consoler, 

Et  jusqu'a  mon  neant  daignent  se  ravaler, 

J'aurai  toujours  pour  vous,  6  suave  merveille, 

Une  devotion  a  nulle  autre  pareille. 

Votre  honneur  avec  moi  ne  court  point  de  hasard, 

Et  n'a  nulle  disgrace  a  craindre  de  ma  part. 

Tous  ces  galants  de  cour,  dont  les  femmes  sont  folles, 

Sont  bruyants  dans  leurs  faits  et  vains  dans  leurs  paroles  ; 

De  leurs  progres  sans  cesse  on  les  voit  se  targuer; 

Us  n'ont  point  de  faveurs  qu'ils  n'aillent  divulger  ; 

Et  leur  langue  indiscrete,  en  qui  1'on  se  confie, 

Deshonore  Pautel  ou  leur  coeur  sacrifie. 

Mais  les  gens  comme  nous  brulent  d'un  feu  discret, 

Avec  qui,  pour  toujours,  on  est  stir  du  secret. 

Le  soin  que  nous  prenons  de  notre  renommee 

Repond  de  toute  chose  a  la  personne  aimee  ; 

Et  c'est  en  nous  qu'on  trouve,  acceptant  notre  coeur, 

De  1'amour  sans  scandale,  et  du  plaisir  sans  peur. 

Le  Tartuffe^  Acte  III,  scene  iii. 

P'211'  TARTUFFE. 

Oui,  mon  frere,  je  suis  un  mechant,  un  coupable, 

Un  malheureux  pecheur,  tout  plein  d'iniquite, 

Le  plus  grand  scelerat  qui  jamais  ait  etc. 

Chaque  instant  de  ma  vie  est  charge  de  souillures ; 

Elle  n'est  qu'un  amas  de  crimes  et  d'ordures ; 

Et  je  vois  que  le  ciel,  pour  ma  punition, 

Me  veut  mortifier  en  cette  occasion. 

De  quelque  grand  forfait  qu'on  me  puisse  reprendre, 

Je  n'ai  garde  d'avoir  1'orgueil  de  m'en  defendre. 

Croyez  ce  qu'on  vous  dit,  armez  votre  courroux, 

Et  comme  un  criminel  chassez-moi  de  chez  vous ; 

Je  ne  saurois  avoir  tant  de  honte  en  partage, 

Que  je  n'en  aie  encore  merite  davantage. 

Le  Tartufe,  Acte  III,  scene  vi. 


396  APPENDIX 

P'212'  L'  EXEMPT 

Nous  vivons  sous  un  prince  ennemi  de  la  fraude, 

Un  prince  dont  les  yeux  se  font  jour  dans  les  cceurs, 

Et  que  ne  peut  tromper  tout  Fart  des  imposteurs. 

D'un  fin  discernement  sa  grande  ame  pourvue 

Sur  les  choses  toujours  jette  une  droite  vue ; 

Chez  elle  jamais  rien  ne  surprend  trop  d'acces, 

Et  sa  ferme  raison  ne  tombe  en  nul  exces. 

II  donne  aux  gens  de  bien  une  gloire  immortelle  j 

Mais  sans  aveuglement  il  fait  briller  ce  zele, 

Et  1'amour  pour  les  vrais  ne  ferme  point  son  coeur 

A  tout  ce  que  les  faux  doivent  donner  d'horreur. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  V,  scene  derniere. 

P<  2I3-  TARTUFFE 

Je  puis  vous  dissiper  ces  craintes  ridicules, 
Madame,  et  je  sais  Tart  de  lever  les  scrupules. 
Le  ciel  defend,  de  vrai,  certains  contentements ; 
Mais  on  trouve  avec  lui  des  accommodements. 
Selon  divers  besoins,  il  est  une  science 
D'etendre  les  liens  de  notre  conscience, 
Et  de  rectifier  le  mal  de  Faction 
Avec  la  purete  de  notre  intention. 
De  ces  secrets,  madame,  on  saura  vous  instruire ; 
Vous  n'avez  seulement  qu'a  vous  laisser  conduire. 
Contentez  mon  desir,  et  n'ayez  point  d'effroi ; 
Je  vous  reponds  de  tout,  et  prends  le  mal  sur  moi. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  IV,  scene  v. 

P-  2l6'  CLEANTE 

Que  ces  francs  charlatans,  que  ces  devots  de  place, 

De  qui  la  sacrilege  et  trompeuse  grimace, 

Abuse  impunement,  et  se  joue,  a  leur  gre 

De  ce  qu'ont  les  mortels  de  plus  saint  et  sacre ; 

Ces  gens  qui,  par  une  ame  a  Finteret  soumise, 

Font  de  devotion  metier  et  marchandise, 

Et  veulent  acheter  credit  et  dignites. 

Le  Tartuffe,  Acte  I,  scene  v. 


ORIGINALS   OF   VERSES   IN    TEXT    397 

8*  ALCESTE 

Non,  je  ne  puis  soufFrir  cette  lache  methode 

Qu'affectent  la  plupart  de  vos  gens  a  la  mode  ; 

Et  je  ne  hais  rien  tant  que  les  contorsions 

De  tous  ces  grands  faiseurs  de  protestations, 

Ces  affables  donneurs  d'embrassades  frivoles, 

Ces  obligeants  diseurs  d  'inutiles  paroles, 

Qui  de  civilites  avec  tous  font  combat, 

Et  traitent  du  meme  air  1'honnete  homme  et  le  fat. 

Quel  avantage  a-t-on  qu'un  homme  vous  caresse, 

Vous  jure  amitie,  foi,  zele,  estime,  tendresse, 

Et  vous  fasse  de  vous  un  eloge  eclatant, 

Lorsque  au  premier  faquin  il  court  en  faire  autant  ? 

Non,  non,  il  n'est  point  d'ame  un  peu  bien  situee 

Qui  veuille  d'une  estime  ainsi  prostituee  ; 

Et  la  plus  glorieuse  a  des  regals  peu  chers, 

Des  qu'on  voit  qu'on  nous  mele  avec  tout  Punivers  : 

Sur  quelque  preference  une  estime  se  fonde, 

Et  c'est  n'estimer  rien  qu'estimer  tout  le  monde. 

Puisque  vous  y  donnez,  dans  ces  vices  du  temps, 

Morbleu  !  vous  n'etes  pas  pour  etre  de  mes  gens  ; 

Je  refuse  d'un  coeur  la  vaste  complaisance 

Qui  ne  fait  de  merite  aucune  difference  ; 

Je  veux  qu'on  me  distingue  ;  et,  pour  le  trancher  net, 

L'ami  du  genie  humain  n'est  point  du  tout  mon  fait. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  I,  scene  i. 

ALCESTE 

Non  :   elle  est  generale,  et  je  hais  tous  les  hommes  : 
Les  uns,  parce  qu'ils  sont  mechants  et  malfaisants, 
Et  les  autres,  pour  etre  aux  mechants  complaisants, 
Et  n'avoir  pas  pour  eux  ces  haines  vigoureuses 
Que  doit  donner  le  vice  aux  ames  vertueuses. 


Tetebleu  !  ce  me  sont  de  mortelles  blessures, 
De  voir  qu'avec  le  vice  on  garde  des  mesures  ; 


398  APPENDIX 

Et  parfois  il  me  prend  des  mouvements  soudains 
De  fuir  dans  un  desert  1'approche  des  humains. 

PHILINTE 

Mon  Dieu,  des  moeurs  du  temps  mettons-nous  moins  en  peine, 
Et  faisons  un  peu  grace  a  la  nature  humaine ; 
Ne  1'examinons  point  dans  la  grande  rigueur, 
Et  voyons  ses  defauts  avec  quelque  douceur. 
II  faut,  parmi  le  monde,  une  vertu  traitable ; 
A  force  de  sagesse,  on  peut  etre  blamable ; 
La  parfaite  raison  fuit  toute  extremite, 
Et  veut  que  Ton  soit  sage  avec  sobriete. 
Cette  grande  roideur  des  vertues  des  vieux  ages 
Heurte  trop  notre  siecle  et  les  communs  usages ; 
Elle  veut  aux  mortels  trop  de  perfection : 
II  faut  flechir  au  temps  sans  obstination ; 
Et  c'est  une  folie  a  nulle  autre  seconde 
De  vouloir  se  meler  de  corriger  le  monde, 

Le  Mtsantbrop  ,  Acte  I,  scene  i. 

P-  26°  PHIL.NTE 

Mais  cette  rectitude 

Que  vous  voulez  en  tout  avec  exactitude, 
Cette  pleine  droiture,  ou  vous  vous  renfermez, 
La  trouvez-vous  ici  dans  ce  que  vous  aimez  ? 
Je  m'etonne,  pour  moi,  qu'etant,  comme  il  le  semble, 
Vous  et  le  genre  humain  si  fort  brouilles  ensemble, 
Malgre  tout  ce  qui  peut  vous  le  rendre  odieux, 
Vous  avez  pris  chez  lui  ce  qui  charme  vos  yeux ; 
Et  ce  qui  me  surprend  encore  davantage, 
C'est  cet  et  range  choix  ou  votre  coeur  s'engage. 
La  sincere  Eliante  a  du  penchant  pour  vous, 
La  prude  Arsinoe  vous  voit  d'un  oeil  fort  doux ; 
Cependant  a  leurs  voeux  votre  ame  se  refuse, 
Tandis  qu'en  ses  liens  Celimene  Pamuse, 
De  qui  1'humeur  coquette  et  1'esprit  medisant 
Semble  si  fort  donner  dans  les  moeurs  d'a  present. 
D'ou  vient  que,  leur  portant  une  haine  mortelle, 


ORIGINALS   OF   VERSES   IN   TEXT    399 

Vous  pouvcz  bien  souffrir  ce  qu'en  tient  cette  belle  ? 
Ne  sont-ce  plus  defauts  dans  un  objet  si  doux  ? 
Ne  les  voyez-vous  pas  ?  ou  les  excusez-vous  ? 

ALCESTE 

Non,  Pamour  que  je  sens  pour  cette  jeune  veuve 
Ne  ferme  point  mes  yeux  aux  defauts  qu'on  lui  treuve, 
Et  je  suis,  quelque  ardeur  qu'elle  m'ait  pu  donner, 
Le  premier  a  les  voir,  comme  a  les  condamner. 
Mais,  avec  tout  cela,  quoi  que  je  puisse  faire, 
Je  confesse  mon  foible  ;  elle  a  1'art  de  me  plaire  : 
J'ai  beau  voir  ses  defauts,  et  j'ai  beau  Pen  blamer, 
En  depit  qu'on  en  ait,  elle  se  fait  aimer ; 
Sa  grace  est  la  plus  forte ;  et  sans  doute  ma  flamme 
De  ces  vices  du  temps  pourra  purger  son  ame. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  I,  scene  i. 

P-  z61'  ALCESTE 

II  est  vrai :   ma  raison  me  le  dit  chaque  jour; 
Mais  la  raison  n'est  pas  ce  qui  regie  Pamour. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  I,  scene  i. 

P-  262'  ALCESTE 

Si  le  Roi  m'avoit  donne 

Paris,  sa  grand'ville, 
Et  qu'il  me  fallut  quitter 

L'amour  de  ma  mie, 
Je  dirois  au  roi  Henri : 

"  Reprenez  votre  Paris  : 
J'aime  mieux  ma  mie,  au  gue  ! 

J'aime  mieux  ma  mie." 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  I,  scene  ii. 

P-  263-  ALCESTE 

J'en  pourrois,  par  malheur,  faire  d'aussi  mechants; 
Mais  je  me  garderois  de  les  montrer  aux  gens. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  I,  scene  ii. 


400  APPENDIX 

P-  263-  CELIMENE 

Des  amants  que  je  fais  me  rendez-vous  coupable  ? 
Puis-je  empecher  les  gens  de  me  trouver  aimable  ? 
Et  lorsque  pour  me  voir  ils  font  de  doux  efforts, 
Dois-je  prendre  un  baton  pour  les  mettre  dehors  ? 

ALCESTE 

Non,  ce  n'est  pas,  Madame,  un  baton  qu'il  faut  prendre, 
Mais  un  occur  a  leur  voeux  moins  facile  et  moins  tendre. 
Je  sais  que  vos  appas  vous  suivent  en  tous  lieux ; 
Mais  votre  accueil  retient  ceux  qu'attirent  vos  yeux ; 
Et  sa  douceur  offerte  a  qui  vous  rend  les  armes 
Acheve  sur  les  coeurs  1'ouvrage  de  vos  charmes. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  II,  scene  i. 

P-  z64"  ALCESTE 

Mais  moi,  que  vous  blamez  de  trop  de  jalousie, 
Qu'ai-je  de  plus  qu'eux  tous,  Madame,  je  vous  prie  ? 

CELIMENE 
Le  bonheur  de  savoir  que  vous  etes  aime. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  II,  scene  i. 

ALCESTE 

Morbleu  !   faut-il  que  je  vous  aime  ? 
Ah  !  si  de  vos  mains  je  rattrape  mon  coeur? 
Je  benirai  le  Ciel  de  ce  rare  bonheur ! 
Je  ne  le  cele  pas,  je  fais  tout  mon  possible 
A  rompre  de  ce  cceur  Pattachement  terrible ; 
Mais  mes  plus  grands  efforts  n'ont  rien  fait  jusqu'ici. 
Et  c'est  pour  mes  peches  que  je  vous  aime  ainsi. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  II,  scene  i, 

5-  CELIMENE 

O  Pennuyeux  conteur ! 

Jamais  on  ne  le  voit  sortir  du  grand  seigneur ; 
Dans  le  brillant  commerce  il  se  mele  sans  cesse, 


ORIGINALS   OF   VERSES   IN   TEXT     401 

Et  ne  cite  jamais  que  due,  prince,  ou  princesse : 

La  qualite  Pentete ;  et  tous  ses  entretiens 

Ne  sont  que  de  chevaux,  d'equipage  et  de  chiens ; 

II  tutaye  en  parlant  ceux  du  plus  haut  etage, 

Et  le  nom  de  Monsieur  est  chez  lui  hors  d'usage. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  II,  scene  iv. 

2(55-  CLITANDRE 

Mais  le  jeune  Cleon,  chez  qui  vont  aujourd'hui 
Nos  plus  honnetes  gens,  que  dites-vous  de  lui  ? 

CELIMENE 

Que  de  son  cuisinier  il  s'est  fait  un  merite, 
Et  que  c'est  a  sa  table  a  qui  Ton  rend  visite. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  II,  scene  iv. 

265-  ALCESTE 

Aliens,  ferme,  poussez,  mes  bons  amis  de  cour ; 
Vous  n'en  epargnez  point,  et  chacun  a  son  tour : 
Cependant  aucun  d'eux  a  vos  yeux  ne  se  montre, 
Qu'on  ne  vous  voie,  en  hate,  aller  a  sa  rencontre, 
Lui  presenter  la  main,  et  d'un  baiser  flatteur 
Appuyer  les  serments  d'etre  son  serviteur. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  II,  scene  iv. 

266'  ELUNTH 

L'amour,  pour  1'ordinaire,  est  peu  fait  a  ces  lois, 
Et  Ton  voit  les  amants  vanter  toujours  leur  choix  ; 
Jamais  leur  passion  n'y  voit  rien  de  blamable, 
Et  dans  1'objet  aime  tout  leur  devient  aimable  : 
Us  comptent  les  defauts  pour  des  perfections, 
Et  savent  y  donner  de  favorables  noms. 
La  pale  est  aux  jasmins  en  blancheur  comparable ; 
La  noire  a  faire  peur,  une  brune  adorable ; 
La  maigre  a  de  la  taille  et  de  la  liberte  ; 
La  grasse  est  dans  son  port  pleine  de  majeste ; 
La  malpropre  sur  soi,  de  peu  d'attraits  chargee, 
Est  mise  sous  le  nom  de  beaute  negligee ; 
26 


402  APPENDIX 

La  geante  parott  une  deesse  aux  yeux  ; 

La  naine,  un  abrege  des  merveilles  des  cieux  ; 

L'orgueilleuse  a  le  coeur  digne  d'une  couronne  ; 

La  fourbe  a  de  1'esprit  ;  la  sotte  est  toute  bonne  ; 

La  trop  grande  parleuse  est  d'agreable  humeur  ; 

Et  la  muette  garde  une  honnete  pudeur. 

C'est  ainsi  qu'un  amant  dont  Pardeur  est  extreme 

Aime  jusqu'aux  defauts  des  personnes  qu'il  aime. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  II,  scene  iv. 


Oui,  oui,  Tranche  grimace  : 

Dans  Tame  elle  est  du  monde,  et  ses  soins  tentent  tout 
Pour  accrocher  quelqu'un,  sans  en  venir  a  bout. 
Elle  ne  sauroit  voir  qu'avec  un  ceil  d'envie 
Les  amants  declares  dont  une  autre  est  suivie  ; 
Et  son  triste  merite,  abandonne  de  tous, 
Contre  le  siecle  aveugle  est  toujours  en  courroux. 
Elle  tache  a  couvrir  d'un  faux  voile  de  prude 
Ce  que  chez  elle  on  voit  d'affreuse  solitude; 
Et  pour  sauver  1'honneur  de  ses  foibles  appas, 
Elle  attache  du  crime  au  pouvoir  qu'ils  n'ont  pas. 
Cependant  un  amant  plairoit  fort  a  la  dame, 
Et  meme  pour  Alceste,  elle  a  tendresse  d'ame.  .  .  . 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  III,  scene  iii. 

67'  ClLIMENE 

Madame,  on  peut,  je  crois,  louer  et  blamer  tout, 
Et  chacun  a  raison,  suivant  Page  ou  le  gout. 
II  est  une  saison  pour  la  galanterie  ; 
II  en  est  une  aussi  propre  a  la  pruderie. 
On  peut,  par  politique,  en  prendre  le  parti, 
Quand  de  nos  jeunes  ans  Peclat  est  amorti  : 
Cela  sert  a  couvrir  de  facheuses  disgraces. 
Je  ne  dis  pas  qu'un  jour  je  ne  suive  vos  traces  : 
L'age  amenera  tout,  et  ce  n'est  pas  le  temps, 
Madame,  comme  on  sait,  d'etre  prude  a  vingt  ans. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  III,  scene  iv. 


ORIGINAL   OF   VERSES   IN   TEXT    403 

P.  269. 

ALCESTE 

Ciel !  rien  de  plus  cruel  peut-il  6tre  invente  ? 
Et  jamais  coeur  fut-il  de  la  sorte  traite  ? 
Quoi  ?  d'un  juste  courroux  je  suis  emu  centre  elle, 
C'est  moi  qui  me  viens  plaindre,  et  c'est  moi  qu'on 

querelle  ! 

On  pousse  ma  douleur  et  mes  soup9ons  a  bout, 
On  me  laisse  tout  croire,  on  fait  gloire  de  tout ; 
Et  cependant  mon  coeur  est  encore  assez  lache 
Pour  ne  pouvoir  briser  la  chaine  qui  1'attache, 
Et  pour  ne  pas  s'armer  d'un  genereux  mepris 
Centre  1'ingrat  objet  dont  il  est  trop  epris  ! 
Ah  !  que  vous  savez  bien  ici,  centre  moi-meme, 
Perfide,  vous  servir  de  ma  foiblesse  extreme, 
Et  menager  pour  vous  Pexces  prodigieux 
De  ce  fatal  amour  ne  de  vos  traitres  yeux  ! 
Defendez-vous  au  moins  d'un  crime  qui  m'accable, 
Et  cessez  d'affecter  d'etre  envers  moi  coupable ; 
Rendez-moi,  s'il  se  peut,  ce  billet  innocent : 
A  vous  preter  les  mains,  ma  tendresse  consent ; 
Efforcez-vous  ici  de  paroitre  fidele, 
Et  je  m'effbrcerai,  moi,  de  vous  croire  telle. 

CELIMENE 

Allez,  vous  etes  fou,  dans  vos  transports  jaloux, 
Et  ne  meritez  pas  1'amour  qu'on  a  pour  vous. 
Je  voudrois  bien  savoir  qui  pourroit  me  contraindre 
A  descendre  pour  vous  aux  bassesses  de  feindre, 
Et  pourquoi,  si  mon  coeur  penchoit  d'autre  cote, 
Je  ne  le  dirois  pas  avec  sincerite. 
Quoi  ?  de  mes  sentiments  1'obligeante  assurance 
Centre  tous  vos  soup9ons  ne  prend  pas  ma  defense  ? 
Aupres  d'un  tel  garant,  sont-ils  de  quelque  poids  ? 
N'est-ce  pas  m'outrager  que  d'ecouter  leur  voix  ? 
Et  putsque  notre  coeur  fait  un  effort  extreme 
Lorsqu'il  peut  se  resoudre  a  confesser  qu'il  aime, 


4o4  APPENDIX 

Puisque  1'honneur  du  sexe,  ennemi  de  nos  feux, 

S'oppose  fortement  a  de  pareils  aveux, 

L'amant  qui  voit  pour  lui  franchir  un  tel  obstacle 

Doit-il  impunement  douter  de  cet  oracle  ? 

Et  n'est-il  pas  coupable  en  ne  s'assurant  pas 

A  ce  qu'on  ne  dit  point  qu'apres  de  grands  combats  ? 

Allez,  de  tels  soupcons  meritent  ma  colere, 

Et  vous  ne  valez  pas  que  Ton  vous  considere  : 

Je  suis  sotte,  et  veux  mal  a  ma  simplicite 

De  conserver  encor  pour  vous  quelque  bonte ; 

Je  devrois  autre  part  attacher  mon  estime, 

Et  vous  faire  un  sujet  de  plainte  legitime. 

ALCESTE 

Ah  !  traitresse,  mon  foible  est  etrange  pour  vous  ! 

Vous  me  trompez  sans  doute  avec  des  mots  si  doux  ; 

Mais  il  n'importe,  il  faut  suivre  ma  destinee  : 

A  votre  foi  mon  ame  est  toute  abandonee ; 

Je  veux  voir,  jusqu'au  bout,  quel  sera  votre  coeur, 

Et  si  de  me  trahir  il  aura  la  noirceur. 

CELIMENE 
Non,  vous  ne  m'aimez  point  comme  il  faut  que  Ton  aime. 

ALCESTE 

Ah  !  rien  n'est  comparable  a  mon  amour  extreme  ; 
Et  dans  Pardeur  qu'il  a  de  se  montrer  a  tous, 
II  va  jusqu'a  former  des  souhaits  centre  vous. 
Oui,  je  voudrais  qu'aucun  ne  vous  trouvat  aimable, 
Que  vous  fussiez  reduite  en  un  sort  miserable, 
Que  le  Ciel,  en  naissant,  ne  vous  cut  donne  rien, 
Que  vous  n'eussiez  ni  rang,  ni  naissance,  ni  bien, 
Afin  que  de  mon  coeur  1'eclatant  sacrifice 
Vous  put  d'un  pareil  sort  reparer  Pinjustice, 
Et  que  j'eusse  la  joie  et  la  gloire,  en  ce  jour, 
De  vous  voir  tenir  tout  des  mains  de  mon  amour. 


ORIGINALS    OF   VERSES    IN   TEXT     405 

CE"LIMENE 

C'est  me  vouloir  du  bien  d'une  etrange  maniere ! 
Me  preserve  le  Ciel  que  vous  ayez  matiere  .   .   . ! 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  IV,  scene  iii. 

P-  27'-  ALCESTE 

II  semble  que  le  sort,  quelque  soin  que  je  prenne, 
Ait  jure  d'empecher  que  je  vous  entretienne  ; 
Mais  pour  en  triompher,  souffrez  a  mon  amour 
De  vous  revoir,  Madame,  avant  la  fin  du  jour. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  IV,  scene  iv. 

P'  2?2-  CELIMENE 

Oui,  vous  pouvez  tout  dire  : 

Vous  en  etes  en  droit,  lorsque  vous  vous  plaindrez, 
Et  de  me  reprocher  tout  ce  que  vous  voudrez. 
J'ai  tort,  je  le  confesse,  et  mon  ame  confuse 
Ne  cherche  a  vous  payer  d'aucune  vaine  excuse. 
J'ai  des  autres  ici  meprise'  le  courroux, 
Mais  je  tombe  d'accord  de  mon  crime  envers  vous. 
Votre  ressentiment,  sans  doute,  est  raisonnable : 
Je  sais  combien  je  dois  vous  paroitre  coupable, 
Que  toute  chose  dit  que  j'ai  pu  vous  trahir, 
Et  qu'enfin  vous  avez  sujet  de  me  hai'r. 
Faites-le,  j'y  consens. 

ALCESTE 

He !  le  puis-je,  traitresse  ? 
Puis-je  ainsi  triompher  de  toute  ma  tendresse  ? 
Et  quoique  avec  ardeur  je  veuille  vous  hai'r, 
Trouve-je  un  coeur  en  moi  tout  pret  a  m'obeir  ? 

{A  Eliante  et  Philinte^) 

Vous  voyez  ce  que  peut  une  indigne  tendresse, 
Et  je  vous  fais  tous  deux  temoins  de  ma  foiblesse. 
Mais,  a  vous  dire  vrai,  ce  n'est  pas  encor  tout, 
Et  vous  allez  me  voir  la  pousser  jusqu'au  bout, 
Montrer  que  c'est  a  tort  que  sages  on  nous  nomme, 


406  APPENDIX 

Et  que  dans  tous  les  coeurs  il  est  toujours  de  rhomme. 
Oui,  je  veux  bien,  perfide,  oublier  vos  forfaits  ; 
J'en  saurai,  dans  mon  ame,  excuser  tous  les  traits, 
Et  me  les  couvrirai  du  nom  d'une  foiblesse 
Ou  le  vice  du  temps  porte  votre  jeunesse, 
Pourvu  que  votre  coeur  veuille  donner  les  mains 
Au  dessein  que  j'ai  fait  de  fuir  tous  les  humains, 
Et  que  dans  mon  desert,  ou  j'ai  fait  voeu  de  vivre, 
Vous  soyez,  sans  tarder,  resolue  a  me  suivre  : 
C'est  par  la  seulement  que,  dans  tous  les  esprits, 
Vous  pouvez  reparer  le  mal  de  vos  ecrits, 
Et  qu'apres  cet  eclat,  qu'un  noble  coeur  abhorre, 
II  peut  m'etre  permis  de  vous  aimer  encore. 


Moi,  renoncer  au  monde  avant  que  de  vieillir, 
Et  dans  votre  desert  aller  m'ensevelir  ! 

ALCESTE 

Et  s'il  faut  qu'a  mes  feux  votre  flamme  reponde, 
Que  vous  doit  importer  tout  le  reste  du  monde  ? 
Vos  desirs  avec  moi  ne  sont-ils  pas  contents  ? 

CELIMENE 

La  solitude  effraye  une  ame  de  vingt  ans  : 
Je  ne  sens  point  la  mienne  assez  grande,  assez  forte, 
Pour  me  resoudre  a  prendre  un  dessein  de  la  sorte. 
Si  le  don  de  ma  main  peut  contenter  vos  vceux, 
Je  pourrai  me  resoudre  a  serrer  de  tels  noeuds  ; 
Et  1'hymen  .  .  . 

ALCESTE 

Non  :  mon  coeur  a  present  vous  deteste, 
Et  ce  refus  lui  seul  fait  plus  que  tout  le  reste. 
Puisque  vous  n'etes  point,  en  des  liens  si  doux, 
Pour  trouver  tout  en  moi,  comme  moi  tout  en  vous, 
Allez,  je  vous  refuse,  et  ce  sensible  outrage 
De  vos  indignes  fers  pour  jamais  me  degage. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  V,  scene  derniere. 


ORIGINALS   OF   VERSES   IN   TEXT    407 

?-  2?4-  ALCESTE 

Puissiez-vous,  pour  gouter  de  vrais  contentements, 

L'un  pour  1'autre  a  jamais  garder  ces  sentiments ! 

Trahi  de  toutes  parts,  accable  d'injustices, 

Je  vais  sortir  d'un  goufFre  ou  triomphent  les  vices, 

Et  chercher  sur  la  terre  un  endroit  ecarte 

Ou  d'etre  homme  d'honneur  on  ait  la  liberte. 

Le  Misanthrope,  Acte  V,  scene  derniere. 

P.  284. 

Affecter  un  air  pedantesque, 
Cracher  du  grec  et  du  latin, 
Longue  perruque,  habit  grotesque, 
De  la  fourrure  et  du  satin, 
Tout  cela  reuni  fait  presque 
Ce  qu'on  appelle  un  medecin. 

Les  Medecins  au  temps  de  Moliere, 

Maurice  Raynaud,  page  81. 


CHRONOLOGY 


1615,  October  6    .     .    Joseph  Bejart  marries  Marie  Herve. 

1617 Catherine  de  Vivonne  establishes  the  Hotel  de  Ram- 

bouillet. 
1618,  January  8    .    .    Madeleine  Bejart  born.     Recorded  in  parish  of  St.  Paul. 

1621,  February  22     .     Marriage   contract  between  Jean   Poquelin  and  Marie 

Cresse. 

"    April  27  ...    Jean  Poquelin  and  Marie  Cresse  married  in  St.  Eustache 
church. 

1622,  January  15  .    .    Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin   (Moliere),  eldest  son  of  Jean, 

Poquelin  and  Marie  Cresse,  baptised  in  St.  Eustache; 
church. 
1626,  April  13  .    .     .    Death  of  Moliere's  paternal  grandfather,  Jean  Poquelin. 

" Moliere's  friend,  Claude  Emmanuel  Chapelle,  born. 

1629 First  meetings  of  Academicians  at  the  home  of  Conrart. 

1631,  April  2    ...     Nicolas  Poquelin  resigns  position  of  valet  de  chambre 

tapissier  at  court  to  his  elder  brother  Jean,  Moliere's 
father. 

1632,  May  ii    ..    .    Burial  of  Moliere's  mother,  aged  thirty-one. 

1633,  January  19-31      Inventory  made  of  the  Poquelin  family  effects  on  account 

of  the  death  of  Moliere's  mother. 

"    May  30    ...    Moliere's  father  marries  Catherine  Fleurette. 
"    September  30  .    Moliere's  father  buys  house  under  arcades  of  market 
place  near  St.  Eustache  church. 

1636 Moliere  probably  entered  Jesuit  College  at  Clermont. 

"    November  I     .     Birth  of  Boileau,  surnamed  Despreaux. 
"  «        12     .    Death  of  Catherine  Fleurette. 

« Rotrou  publishes,  in  the  dedication  to   his  TTie  Dying 

Hercules  (Hercule  mourant),  some  verses  by  Madeleine 
Bejart. 

1637,  March  29     .    .    Reversion  of  office  of  valet  de  chambre  tapissier  settled  on 
Moliere. 

Death  of  Moliere's  maternal  grandfather,  Louis  Cresse*. 

July  ii  ...  Frangoise,  illegitimate  child  of  Esprit  de  Remond  de 
Modene  and  Madeleine  Bejart,  baptised.  She  was 
born  on  the  third  of  July. 

1639 Richelieu  builds  theatre  in  the  Palais  Cardinal, afterward 

known  as  Palais  Royal. 
"    December  21    .    Jean  Racine  born,  at  La  Ferte-Milon. 


4io 


CHRONOLOGY 


1641,  February  .  .  The  epicurean  philosopher  Gassendi,  after  an  absence  of 
about  seven  years,  returns  to  Paris ;  Moliere  becomes 
his.  pupil. 

Journey  of  Louis  XIII  to  Narbonne,  where  (May  12) 
Cinq  Mars  and  De  Thou  are  arrested  for  plotting 
Richelieu's  death.  Possible  presence  of  Moliere  in 
King's  suite  as  valet  de  chambre  tapissier. 

Death  of  Cardinal  Richelieu. 

Moliere  receives  from  his  father  the  sum  of  630  livres 
on  account  of  his  mother's  estate  and  renounces  his 
right  of  succession  to  the  office  of  Royal  Upholsterer. 

Marie  Herve,  widow  of  Joseph  Bejart,  takes  proceedings 
to  abandon  right  of  husband's  inheritance. 

Signing  of  the  contract  establishing  "The  Illustrious 
Theatre." 

Moliere  signs  lease  with  Noel  Gallois,  the  tennis  master, 
for  the  Mestayers'  Tennis-court. 

The  Fair  of  the  Pardon  at  Rouen  opened,  Moliere  being 
there  with  the  members  of  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre." 

The  members  sign  contract  for  alterations  to  their  Paris 
house. 

The  members  sign  obligation  to  pay  Leonard  Aubry  200 
livres  for  pavement  in  front  of  their  theatre. 

"  The  Illustrious  Theatre  "  probably  opened. 

« "The  Illustrious  Theatre  "receives  the  right  to  style  itself 

"  The  Company  of  His  Royal  Highness  "  ( Troupe  en- 
tretemie  par  son  Aliesse  Royale),  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 

Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin  for  the  first  time  signs  his  name 
"  Mgli^e,"  in  contract  with  the  ballet-master  Daniel 
Mollet. 

Debt  drives  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre  "  from  their  play- 
house and  they  rent  another  tennis-court,  The  Black 
Cross,  in  the  rue  des  Barres. 

Opening  of  the  Black  Cross  play-house. 

Moliere  arrested  for  debt  and  imprisoned  in  the  Grand 

Chatelet. 
August   2-4     »     Moliere  again  imprisoned  in  the  Grand  Chitelet. 

Moliere  released  under  bond. 

Leonard  Aubry,  who  paved  the  street  hi  front  of  the 
Mestayers'  Tennis-court,  goes  upon  Moliere's  bond. 
Five  of  the  members  of  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre  " 
sign  the  obligation  to  indemnify  Aubry. 

1645,  Autumn   (or  Spring  of  1646).     Moliere  leaves    Paris  and    begins   his 

theatrical  career  in  the  country. 

1646,  December  24  .    Moliere's  father  gives  the  pavier  Leonard  Aubry  his 

note  for  300  livres. 

1647,  August-September  "  Comedians  of  the  Duke  of  Epernon  "  at  Albi. 


1642 


"    December  4 
1643,  January  6    . 


"     June  10  .    . 

"   30  •    • 
0     September  12 
"     October  23 
"     November  3 
"     December  28 
1644,  January  i 


\   «      June  28      . 
"    December  19 

1645,  January  8    . 
"    July    .    .    . 


2-4 
5  - 
13  • 


CHRONOLOGY 


411 


1647,  October  .    . 

1648,  April  23 

"    May  17    .    . 

"       «     18    .    . 

1650,  January  16  . 


1651,  April  14  .    . 

"    Autumn    (or 

1652 


1653,  February  19 
"    March      .    . 
"    September  . 

1654,  February  22 


"    August  1 8    . 
"    December  5 


1655,  February  7  . 


18 


.    The  "Comedians  of  the  Duke  of  Epernon"  at  Carcas- 
sonne. 

.     "The  Sieur    Morlierre    [sic],  one   of  the  comedians  of 

the  troupe  of  the  Sieur  Dufresne  "  appears  before  the 

civic  authorities  of  Nantes,  humbly  to  beg  permission 

to  erect  a  stage  and  present  comedies. 

.     Dufresne  confers  with   the  city  authorities  of  Nantes 

about  a  play  to  be  given  for  the  benefit  of  the  town 

hospital.  y 

.     The  play  given.     Dufresne,  Du  Pare,  Marie  Herve,  and 

Madeleine  Be j art  sponsors  at  the  baptism  of  Reveil- 

lon's  daughter. 

.     Moliere  signs  his  name  in  Narbonne  as  "  Jean-Baptiste- 

Poquelin,  valet  de  chambre  du  roi." 

.     Giovanni  Battista  Lully  (Lulli),  a  Florentine  composer 

and  violinist,  joins   Royal   French   Orchestra.     Soon 

thereafter  appointed  Director  of  Music  to  Louis  XIV. 

.     Moliere  in  Paris  in  connection  with  the  settlement  of  his 

mother's  estate.     Receives  1965  livres. 
Winter  of     1651-52).    Moliere    meets    Charles   Coypeau 

d'Assoucy  at  Carcassonne. 

.     Claude  Emmanuel  Chapelle,  natural  son  of  Fra^ois 
Luillier,  maitre  des  comptes,  but  legitimised  at  age  of 
sixteen,  inherits  fortune  through  death  of  father. 
.    Moliere  present  in  Lyons  at  wedding  of  Gros-Rene  (Du 

Pare)  and  Marquise  de  Gorla. 
.     Probable  first  performance  of  The  Blunderer  (L'£tourdi) 

at  Lyons.     (See  pages  45-49.) 

.     Moliere's  first  professional  appearance  before  the  Prince 
de  Conti  at  La  Grange-des-Pres.     For  three  years 
thereafter  Moliere's  company  known  as  "The  Come- 
dians of  the  Prince  de  Conti." 
.    The  Prince  de  Conti  marries  Anna  Martinozzi,  Mazarin's 

niece,  and  is  appointed  governor  of  Guienne. 
.     Ragueneau  a  candle  snuffer  at  a  Lyons  play-house. 
.     He  dies  there. 

.    The  poet  Sarrasin  dies  at  Pezenas.    Moliere  is  considered 
by  the  Prince  de  Conti  for  the  position  of  secretary 
left  vacant  by  Sarrasin's  death,  but  Moliere  declines. 
.    Opening  of  the  States  (£tats)  of  Montpellier.    Moliere's 

troupe  summoned  there. 

.  During  session  of  the  States  at  Montpellier  presentation 
of  The  Ballet  of  the  Incompatible*  (Le  Ballet  des 
Incompatibles ) . 

Antoine  Baralier,  tax-gatherer  at  Montelimart,  acknowl- 
edges an  indebtedness  to  Madeleine  Bejart  (acting 
as  the  troupe's  treasurer)  of  3200  livres. 


4I2 

1655.  March  14     . 
"     April  i   .    . 


1655-56,  Winter  . 
1656,  February  22 


"    December  12 
1657,  May  15    .. 


1658,  February  . 
"  April  30  .  . 
"  August  .  . 

"     October  24  . 


"     November  2 

1659,  April  1 6  .    . 

"    July     .    .    . 

"    November  7 
18 


CHRONOLOGY 

The  States  of  Languedoc  close  at  Montpellier.  Moliere's 
troupe  receives  8000  livres  for  a  four  months'  stay. 

Madeleine  Bejart  lends  the  province  of  Languedoc  the 
sum  of  10,000  livres. 

Moliere  and  Charles  Coypeau  d'Assoucy  pass  three 
months  together  at  Lyons. 

At  a  session  of  the  States  held  at  Pezenas,  the  authorities 

pay  Moliere's  company  6000  livres  for  its  services. 
The  States   of   Languedoc  adjourned.    The   Prince  de 
Conti  is  converted  to  Jansenism  by  the  Bishop  of 
Aleth. 

Joseph  Bejart  receives  1500  livres  for  a  genealogy  of 
the  provincial  nobility  of  Languedoc,  which  he  has 
written. 

Chapelle  and  Bachaumont  journey  through  Languedoc. 

The  Abbe  de  Pure  publishes  a  novel:  The  Precieuse  ; 
or,  The  Mystery  of  the  Alcove  (La  Precieuse  ou  le  mysfire 
de  la  ruelle).  He  also  writes  a  comedy  on  a  similar 
topic  which  is  presented  by  the  Italians  at  the  Hotel 
du  Petit  Bourbon. 

The  Love  Tiff  (Le  Dtpit  amoureux)  performed  for  the 
first  time  at  Beziers. 

The  Prince  de  Conti  writes  from  Lyons  to  the  Abbe 
Ciron :  " .  .  .  there  are  comedians  here  who  formerly 
bore  my  name.  I  have  forbidden  them  to  use  it 
longer.  .  .  ." 

Moliere  at  Grenoble. 

Moliere  at  Rouen. 

Moliere  makes  frequent  trips  to  Paris  to  secure  protec- 
tion of  Monsieur,  the  King's  brother. 

Moliere  plays  for  the  first  time  before  the  King,  in  the 
Guard  room  of  the  Old  Louvre  :  Corneille's  Nicomedes 
(Nicomede)  and  The  Doctor  in  Love  (Le  Do^ir 
amoureux).  Address  of  Moliere  to  the  King  in  the 
presence  of  the  Comedians  of  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne.  The  King's  decree  makes  Moliere's  company 
La  Troupe  de  Monsieur,  frere  unique  du  roi. 

Monsieur's  Comedians  appear  in  public  at  the  Hotel  du 
Petit  Bourbon. 

Moliere  opens  the  theatrical  season  with  The  Love  Tiff 
at  the  chateau  of  Chilly-Mazarin. 

The  Italians  leave  for  Italy,  and  Moliere  is  in  sole 
possession  of  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon. 

Maria  Theresa  affianced  to  Louis  XIV. 

First  performance  of  Les  Precieuses  ridicules,  at  the 
Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon,  preceded  by  Cinna.  Moli- 
ere in  the  role  of  Maicarille. 


CHRONOLOGY 


i66o,  May  7      ... 
"   28    ... 

«    June  7     .    .     . 
<    9     .    .    . 

"    July  and  August 

.-.'V. .October  6    .     . 
"      n  . 


"     26  . 

1661,  January  20  . 
"     February  4  . 

"     March  9  .. 
«     April  I    .. 

"    June  24  .     . 
"    July  ii     .    . 

"        "    13    •     - 
"    August  17    . 


"     September  5 
1662,  January  9    . 


23  . 
"  February  20 
"  May  8  .  . 
«  July  .  .  . 


Moliere  produces  a  comedy  by  M.  Gilbert:  The  True 
and  the  False  Precieuse  (La  Vraye  et  fausse  prkieuse}. 

First  performance  of  Sganarelle ;  or,  The  Imaginary 
Cuckold  (Sganarelle  ou  le  cocu  imaginaire] ,  at  the  Petit 
Bourbon.  Moliere  in  the  role  of  Sganarelle. 

The  King  meets  the  Infanta  Maria  Theresa  at  frontier. 

The  King's  marriage  at  Saint-Jean-de-Luz,  the  bishop  of 
Bayonne  officiating. 

King  at  Vincennes.  Moliere  plays  before  him  three 
times. 

Death  of  Scarron. 

M.  de  Ratabon,  Superintendent  of  the  King's  buildings, 
begins  to  destroy  the  Hotel  du  Petit  Bourbon  without 
warning  to  Moliere.  The  King  gives  Moliere  the 
theatre  in  the  Palais  Royal. 

Moliere  presents  The  Blunderer  and  Les  Prtcieuses  ridi- 
cules  at  the  Louxre^before  the  dying  Mazarin. 

Moliere's  renovated  theatre  at  the  Palais  Royal  opened 
with  The  Love  Tiffixd.  Sganarelle. 

First  performance,  at  the  Palais  Royal,  of  Don  Garcia  de 
Navarre  ;  or,  The  Jealous  Prince  (Don  Garde  de  Na- 
varre, ou  le  Prince  jaloux).  Moliere  in  the  role  of 
Don  Garcia. 

Mazarin  dies  at  Vincennes. 

Moliere  receives  a  double  share  in  the  net  receipts  of 
his  troupe. 

First  performance,  at  the  Palais  Royal,  of  The  School  for  \ 
Husbands  (L'£colc  des  marts).  Moliere  in  the  role  of 
Sganarelle. 

The  School  for  Husbands  given  at  Vaux-le-Vicomte  dur- 
ing a  fete  offered  by  Fouquet  to  the  Queen  of  England, 
Monsieur  and  Madame. 

The  School  for  Husbands  performed  before  the  King  at 
Fontainebleau. 

First  performance  of  The  Bores  (Les  FAcheux)  before  the 
King,  at  Vaux-le-Vicomte,  just  before  Fouquet's 
downfall.  Moliere  in  several  minor  parts. 

Fouquet  arrested  at  Nantes  by  d'Artagnan. 

The  Italians  begin  again  to  alternate  with  Moliere  at  the 
Palais  Royal. 

Marriage  contract  concluded  between  Moliere  and 
Armande  Bejart. 

Moliere  and  Armande  Bejart  married  at  St.  Germain 
1'Auxerrois. 

Moliere's  troupe  commanded  by  the  King  to  St.  Germain- 
en-Laye.  Stay  eleven  days. 

They  are  again  commanded  by  the  King  to  St.  Germain- 


1 662,  December  26 

1663,  January  6     . 
"    March  17     . 

"    June  i     .    . 
«    October  18  . 


19 
1664,  January  17 


19 

..       29 


"    February  15 

"  "        28 

"    May;     •    • 


1      12   .      . 

"    Junes     .    . 

"    «    20       .    . 

"    August  4     . 
"    September  25 


"    November  10 
"  «          14 

«  «          29 


CHRONOLOGY 

en-Laye  and  stay  the  whole  month.     The  troupe 

receives  14,000  livres. 
First  performance  of  The  School  for  Wives  (L'£cole  des 

femmes).     Moliere  in  the  role  of  Arnolphe. 
The  School  for  Wives  performed  at  the  Louvre. 
Moliere's  name  appears  for  the  first  time  on  the  King's 

pension  list.     He  receives  1000  livres. 
First   performance    of    The   Criticism  of  the  School  for 

Wives  (La  Critique  de  Ftcole  des  femmes). 
Probable  first  performance  of  The  Versailles  Impromptu 

(V Impromptu  de  Versailles}.     Moliere  in  the  role  of 

Moliere. 
Boursault's  play  The  Portrait  of  the  Painter  (Le  Portrait 

du  peintre)  given  for  the  first  time  at  the  Hotel  de 

Bourgogne. 
M.  de  Brecourt's   The  Great  Booby  of  a  Son  as  Foolish 

as  his  Father  (Le  Grand  benfr  de  fils  aussi  sot  que  son 

ptre)  is  first  performed  at  the  home  of  M.  Le  Tellier. 
Louis,  Moliere's  eldest  son,  born. 
The  Forced  Marriage  (Le   Mariage  forcf]  presented  in 

Anne  of  Austria's  apartment  at  the  Louvre.    Moliere 

in  the  role  of  Sganarelle. 
First  (public)  performance  of   The  Forced  Marriage  at 

the  Palais  Royal. 

Baptism  of  Moliere's  son  Louis,  the  King  as  godfather. 
Beginning  of  a  series  of  fetes  at  Versailles,  called    "  The 

Pleasures  of   the  Enchanted    Isle  "  (Les  Plaisirs  de 

Ftle  enchantle).     On  the  second  day,  first  performance 

of  "  The  Princess  of  Elis  "  (La  Princesse  d*£lide)  with 

Moliere  in  the  role  of  Modern. 
(The  sixth  day  of  "  The  Pleasures  of  the  Enchanted  Isle.") 

First  performance  of  the  first  three  acts  of  The  Hypo- 
crite (Le  Tartnffe\.    Moliere  in  the  role  of  Orgon. 
The  troupe  of  Mme.  Raisin  performs  at  the  Palais  Royal. 

The  acting  of  young  Baron  so  pleases  Moliere  that 

he  takes  him  into  his  household  and  troupe. 
First  performance,  by   Moliere's  troupe  at  the   Palais 

Royal,  of  Racine's  first  tragedy,  La  Thtbaide. 
The  King  permits  Moliere  to  read  The  Hypocrite  before 

Cardinal  Chigi,  the  papal  legate,  at  Fontainebleau. 
The  King  permits  the  three  acts  of  The  Hypocrite  to  be 

played  at  Villers-Cotterets  before  the  Due  d'Orleans 

and  members  of  the  royal  family. 
Louis,  Moliere's  son,  dies. 
La  Grange  begins  to  replace  Moliere  as  orateur  of  the 

troupe. 
The    whole    (five    acts)    of     The   Hypocrite    probably 


CHRONOLOGY 


1664 

1665,  February  15    . 
"    June  13  ... 

"    August  4     .    . 

"        "      14      .    . 
"     September  15 

22 

"    December  4 

"       18     . 

1666,  June  4     .    .    . 
"     August  6     .     . 
«     December  2 


€t  tt 


1667,  February  14    . 


for  the  first  time,  before  the  Prince  de  Conde*  at 
Raincy. 

Moliere,  Racine,  La  Fontaine,  and  Chapelle  meet  three 
times  a  week  with  Boileau  at  his  home  in  the  rue 
Colombier  (now  rue  Jacob). 

First  performance  of  Don  Juan  ;  or,  the  Feast  of  Stone, 
(Don  Juan  ou  lefestin  de  pier  re}.  Moliere  in  the  role 
of  Sganarelle. 

Moliere,  commanded  by  the  King  to  Versailles,  presents 
The  Favozirite  (Le  Favori},  a  comedy  by  Mile,  des 
Jardins.  Moliere  as  a  Ridiculous  Marquess  inter- 
rupts the  performance. 

Baptism  of  Esprit-Madeleine,  daughter  of  Moliere,  at 
St.  Eustache  church.  Godfather,  M.  de  Modene ; 
godmother,  Madeleine  Be j art. 

The  troupe,  at  St.  Germain-en-Laye,  becomes  "  The 
King's  Troupe,"  with  a  pension  of  6000  livres. 

Probable  first  performance  of  Love  as  a  Doctor  (L?  Amour 
medecin],  with  prologue,  two  entr'actes,  music  by 
Lully  and  a  ballet,  at  Versailles.  Moliere  in  the 
role  of  Sganarelle. 

First  performance  (in  public)  of  Love  as  a  Doctor  at  the 
Palais  Royal. 

Moliere  produces  Racine's  Alexander  at  the  Palais 
Royal. 

Racine  has  his  Alexander  played  at  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne  without  warning  to  the  management  of  the 
Palais  Royal. 

First  performance  of  The  Misanthrope  at  the  Palais 
Royal.  Moliere  in  the  role  of  Alceste,  and  his  wife 
in  that  of  Celimene. 

First  performance  of  The  Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself 
(Le  Medecin  malgrS  lui).  Moliere  in  the  role  of 
Sganarelle. 

The  Ballet  of  the  Muses  begins  at  St.-Germain-en-Laye. 
At  the  third  entree  occurs  the  first  performance  of 
Moliere's  Melicerte,  an  heroic  pastoral.  Moliere  in 
the  role  of  Lycarsis.  The  Comic  Pastoral  (La  Pas- 
torale comique},  with  Moliere  in  the  role  Lycas,  was 
produced  at  the  same  time. 

Baron  leaves  Moliere  and  re-enters  Mme.  Raisin's  troupe, 
because  Mile.  Moliere  had  boxed  his  ears  during 
a  rehearsal  of  Melicerte.  Moliere's  rupture  with  his 
wife  occurs  soon  after. 

Probable  first  performance  of  The  Sicilian ;  or,  Love  as  a 
Painter  (Le  Sicilien  ou  F  Amour  peintre}  at  St.  Ger- 
main. Moliere  in  the  role  of  Don  Pedre. 


4i6 


CHRONOLOGY 


1667,  March     .    .    . 
"    Easter  Closing 

"    August  5     .    . 


II    . 

1 668,  January  13  . 
"    JulyiS    .    . 

"  August  31  . 
"  September  9 
"  October  9  . 

"    December  24 

1669,  February  5  . 

"       25 
"    October  7      . 

1670,  January  4     . 

"          "         9    . 

"    February  4  . 


Racine  induces  Mile.  Therese  de  Gorla  du  Pare  to  desert 
Moliere's  forces  and  join  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne. 

The  Palais  Royal  remains  closed  for  over  six  weeks. 
Moliere  seriously  ill.  For  two  months  he  lives  upon 
a  milk  diet  and  retires  to  Auteuil,  where  he  has  rented 
a  house  with  Chapelle. 

First  performance  of  The  Hypocrite  at  the  Palais  Royal, 
but  under  the  title  of  The  Impostor  (Ulmposteur]  and 
with  Tartuffe's  name  changed  to  Panulphe. 

Order  from  the  Court  of  Parlement  forbidding  the 
presentation  of  The  Hypocrite .  Interruption  of  seven 
weeks.  La  Grange  and  La  Thorilliere  sent  to  the 
King  before  Lille  requesting  permission  to  present 
The  Hypocrite. 

The  Archbishop  of  Paris,  Hardouin  de  Perefixe,  forbids 
The  Hypocrite  to  be  presented,  read,  or  listened  to  in 
his  diocese. 

First  performance  of  Amphitryon  at  the  Palais  Royal, 
Moliere  in  the  role  of  Sosie. 

First  performance  of  George  Dandin ;  or,  The  Abashed 
Husband  (George  Dandin  ou  le  Mr>rie  confondu)  at 
Versailles,  during  a  fete  held  in  celebration  of  the 
Peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle.  Moliere  hi  the  title  role. 

Moliere  lends  his  father,  under  the  name  of  the  latter's 
friend,  Jacques  Rohault,  the  sum  of  8000  livres. 

First  performance  of  The  Miser  (L'Avare)  at  the  Palais 
Royal.  Moliere  in  the  role  of  Hacpagon. 

Subligny's  The  Foolish  Quarrel ;  or,  The  Criticism  of 
Andromachus  (La  Folle  Querelle  ou  la  critique  d'An- 
dromaque),  produced  at  the  Palais  Royal. 

Moliere,  under  the  name  of  Jacques  Rohault,  lends  his 
father  2000  livres  more. 

First  regular  performance  of  The  Hypocrite  at  the  Palais 
Royal,  the  play  being  restored  to  the  stage  by  royal 
decree.      Moliere  in   the  role   of  Orgon.     Receipts 
reach  the  sum  of  2860  livres. 
Death  of  Moliere's  father,  at  the  age  of  73  years. 
First   performance    of    Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac    at 
Chambord.     Moliere  in  the  title  role. 

Le  Boulanger  de  Chalussay's  £.lomire  the  Hypochondriac  ; 
or,  The  Doctors  Avenged  (£lomire  hypocondre  ou  les 
mldecins  venges}  published. 

Death  of  Marie  Herve,  widow  of  Joseph  Bejart. 

First  performance  of  The  Magnificent  Lovers  (Les 
Amants  magnifiques),  the  subject  of  which  is 
suggested  by  the  King.  Moliere  in  the  role  of 
Clitidas. 


CHRONOLOGY 


1670,  March  23 

"     October  14  . 

"     November  23 

« 

1671,  January  17  . 

"     May  24    .    . 
"    December  2 


1672,  January  9    . 
"     February  14 
17 
"     March  II 


"     September  15 
"     October  I     . 
"      10    . 
1673,  February  10 


i8 

21 

1677,  May  29   .     . 
1680    . 


Moliere's  troupe  retires   Louis  Bejart  on  a  pension  of 

loco  livres  a  year. 
First  performance   of  The  Burgher,  a    Gentleman   (Le 

Bourgeois  gentilhomme),  before  the  court  at  Cham- 

bord.     Moliere  in  the  role  of  Monsieur  Jourdain. 
First  performance  of  The  Burgher,  a  Gentleman  at  the 

Palais  Royal. 

Baron  restored  to  Moliere's  favour. 
Psyche,  tragedy  ballet,  put  forth  hurriedly  for  the  Carni- 
val,  and  made  in  collaboration  with  Corneille,  Qui- 

nault,  and  Sully.   Performed  at  the  Tuileries.   Moliere 

in  the  role  of  Zephyre. 
First  performance  of  The  Rascalities  of  Scapin  (Les  Four- 

beries  de  Scapin}  at  the  Palais  Royal.     Moliere  in  the 

role  of  Scapin. 
First  performance  of  La  Comtesse  d*  Escarbagnas,  given 

as  an  introduction  to  a  court  ballet  at  St.  Germain. 

Moliere  plays  no  role. 

Probable  time  of  Moliere's  reunion  with  his  wife. 
Madeleine  Bejart,  being  ill,  executes  her  testament. 
Codicil  to  Madeleine  Bejart's  will  executed. 
Death  of  Madeleine  Bejart. 
First  performance  of  The  Learned  Women  (Les  Femmes\ 

savantes)  at  the  Palais  Royal.     Moliere  in  the  role  of 

Chrysale. I 

Pierre-J.-B.-Armand,  Moliere's  third  child,  born. 

Pierre  baptised. 

Death  of  Pierre. 

First  performance  of  The  Imaginary  Invalid  (Le  Malade 

imaginaire),  Moliere's  last  comedy.     Moliere  in  the 

role  of  Argan. 
At  four  o'clock,  fourth  performance  of   The  Imaginary 

Invalid.     Moliere    has   haemorrhage.     Death   comes 

about  ten  o'clock  at  his  home  in  the  rue  Richelieu. 
Request  made  by  Moliere's  widow  to  the  Archbishop  of 

Paris  for  permission  to  give  Moliere  Christian  burial. 
Burial  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  Moliere  in  the 

cemetery  of  St.  Joseph. 
Moliere's  widow  marries  Guerin  d'Estriche. 
Louis  XIV  amalgamates  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne  and 

the  troupe  of  Moliere. 


27 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

THIS  bibliography  contains  the  titles  of  those  books  only  which  are 
quoted,  referred  to,  or  have  been  specially  consulted  in  the  preparation  of 
this  work.  For  supplemental  bibliographies  the  reader  is  directed  to  the 
Bibliographic  Holier  esque  by  Paul  Lacroix;  to  Volume  XI  of  the  (Euvres 
de  Moliere,  edited  by  Eugene  Despois  and  Paul  Mesnard;  and  to  the 
Catalogue  of  the  Moliere  Collection  in  Harvard  College  Library.  Details 
concerning  these  volumes  will  be  found  below. 


AIME-MARTIN,  L. :  Editors  (Euvres  completes  de  Molilre,  avec  les  notes 

de  tous  les  commentateurs.     Paris,  1824-1826.     8  vols. 
ALEXANDRE,  Doctor :    Molilre  et  les  m^decins.     Amiens,  1854.     Lec- 
ture given  at  the  Academy  of  Amiens. 

ALLAINVAL,  LEONOR-JEAN-CHRISTINE-SOULAS,  Abb£  d'  :  Memoires  sur 
Molttre  et  sur  Mme.  Gutrin,  sa  veuve;  suivis  des  Mdmoires  sur 
Baron  et  sur  Mile.  Lecouvreur.  Paris,  1822. 

This  volume,  which  is  part  of  the  Collection  sur  fart  dramatique, 
contains : 

I.   La  Vie  de  Molttre  by  Grimarest  (reprint); 
II.   Extrait  des  Mtmoires  de  Mme.  Gutrin,  veuve  de  Moltire  ; 
III.   Lettre  d  My  lord  .  .  .  sur  Baron  et  la  Demoiselle  Lecouvreur 

(reprint) ; 
IV.   Lettre  sur  la  come"die  de  rimposteur  (reprint). 

ALLIER,  RAOUL:  La  Cabale  des  Devots  (1627-1666).     Paris,  1902. 
ANONYMOUS:   Anonymiana,  ou  Melanges  de  poe'sies,  d'e'loquence,  et 

d'e'rudition.     Paris,  1700. 
ANONYMOUS:   Le  Ballet  des  Incompatibles.     Montpelier,   1665.     See 

Collection  Molitresque,  Vol.  VII. 
ANONYMOUS  :  La   Critique  du  Tartuffe.   Paris,    1670.     See   Collection 

Molieresque,  Vol.  X. 
ANONYMOUS:  La  Fameuse  Comedienne,  ou  Histoirede  la  Gue'rin  aupara- 

vant  femme  et  veuve  de  Moliere.     Frankfort,  1688.     Reprint,  1876. 

See  Livet.     See  also  Collection.  Molieresque,  Vol.  XI. 
ANONYMOUS:  Lettre  sur  la  come" die  de  Vlmposteur.     Paris,  1667.     See 

Collection  Molieresque,  Vol.  XVII. 
ANONYMOUS  :  Notice  sur  le  fauteuil  de  Molilre,  par  M  .  .  .    Second 

edition,  Paris,  1836. 
ANONYMOUS  :    Le   Songe   du    rtveur.      Paris,    1660.    See    Collection 

Molieresque,  Vol.  I. 


420  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

ASSOUCY,  CHARLES  COYPEAU  D'  :    Les  Aventures  de  Monsieur  cTAs- 

soucy.     Paris,  1677.     2  vols. 
AUBIGNAC,  FRANCOIS-HEDELIN,  Abbd  d' :    Quatrieme  dissertation  con- 

cernant  le  poeme  dramatique,  servant  de  rdponse  aux  calomnies  de 

M.  Corneil le.     Paris,  1663. 
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Geneva,  1630.     Edition  of  1855,  edited  and  annotated  by  Prosper 

Me*rimee. 
— - AUGER,  LOUIS-SIMON  :  Editor,  (Euvres  de  Moliere^  avec  un  Commentaire, 

un  Discours  preliminaire  sur  la  come'die,  et  une  Vie  de  Moliere. 

Paris,  1819-1825.    9  vols. 


B 

BACHAUMONT,  FRANCOIS  LE  COIGNEUX  DE.    See  Chapelle. 

BAILLET,  ADRIEN.     See  Malassis. 

BALUFFE,  AUGUSTS  :  Molttre  inconnu :  Sa  Vie.    Paris,  1886. 

BARON,  called  MICHEL  BOYRON:  Le  Thldtre  de  Mr.  Baron.     Paris, 

1759.     3  v°ls-     First  edition  appeared  in  1736  in  2  vols. 
BAUDOUIN,  F.-M. :  Les  Femmes  dans  Molttre.     Rouen,  1865. 
BAYLE,  PIERRE:  Dictionnaire  historique  et  critique.     Rotterdam,  1697. 

2  vols. 

BAZIN,  A.  :  Les  Dernttres  Annies  de  Moliere.     Extract  from  La  Revue 
des  Deux  Mondes.     Paris,  January  15,  1848. 

Notes  historiques  sur  la  vie  de  Molttre.     Paris,  1851. 
BEAUCHAMPS,  PIERRE-FRANCOIS  GODAR  DE:    Recherches  sur  les  tht- 

dtres  en  France,  depuis  1'annde  onze  cent  soixante  et  un,  jusques  a 

present.     Paris,  1735.     3  vo^s- 
BEFFARA,  LOUIS-FRANCOIS  :  Dissertation  sur  J.-B.  Poquelin-Moliere, 

sur  ses  anc£tres,  Vtyoque  de  sa  naissance,  qui  avait  ///  inconnue 

jusqrfa  present;   sur  son  buste;   sur  la  veritable  tpoque  de  son 

mariage  .  .  .  ;  sur  la  maison  ou  il  est  mort  .  .  .  ;  sur  les  comediens 

et  comediennes  Btjart,  freres  et  sceurs  de  Mme.  Moliere  .  .  .    Paris, 

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BLACK,  John.     See  Schlegd. 
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BOILEAU  DESPREAUX,  NICOLAS:    CEuvres  de  M.  Boileau  Desprtaux 
(see  Brossette). 

L?  Art pottique.  First  appeared  in  the  edition  of  1674  of  CEuvres 
diverses  du  sieur  D  .  .  . 

Satires  du  sieur  D  .  .  .     Paris,  1666. 

Stances  d  M.  Moliere  sur  sa  cotnedie  de  l'£cole  des  femmes  que 
plusietirs  gens  frondoient.  First  published  in  Part  I  of  a  Collec- 
tion made  in  1663,  entitled  Les  Delices  de  la  pohie  galante  des  plus 
celebres  auteurs  de  ce  temps. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  421 

«i 

BOSSUET,  JACQUES-BE"NIGNE  :  Maximes  et  reflexions  sur  la  comedie. 

Paris,  1694. 

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BRECOURT,  GUILLAUME  MARCOUREAU,  Sieur  de.     See  Nouvelle  Collec- 
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sur  la  maniere  de  jouer  ses  pieces,  potir  faire  suite  aux  diverses 

editions  des  (Euvres  de  Moliere.     Paris,  an  X.  —  1802. 

CAMPARDON,  £MILE  :  Documents  inedits  sur  .  .  .  Moliere,  decouverts  et 

publies  avec  des  notes  .  .  .     Paris,  1871. 

Les  Come"diens  du  Roi  de  la  troupe  fran^aise  pendant  les  deux  der- 
niers  siecles.    Documents  inedits  recueillis  aux  Archives  nationales. 
Paris,  1879. 
Nouvelles  pieces  sur  Moliere  et  sur  qtielques  come'diens  de  sa  troupe, 

recueillies  aux  Archives  nationales.     Paris,  1876. 
CHALUSSAY,  LE  BOULANGER  DE  :  Elomire  hypocondre  ou  les  me'decins 

vengds.    Paris,  1670.     See  Collection  Molieresque,  Vol.  III. 
CHAMPMELE",    CHARLES    CHEVILLET,    Sieur   de :  Les    Fragments    de 

Molilre.     Paris,  1682.     See  Collection  Molitresque,  Vol.  XVIII. 
CHAPELLE,  CLAUDE-EMMANUEL  LUILLIER  :  Extrait  d'une  lettre  ecrite 
de  la  campagne  (by  Chapelle  to  Moliere)  and  a  letter  from  the 
same  to  the  same  dated  in  the  spring  of  1659,  also  written  from 


422  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

the  country,  are  found  in  Vol.  V  of  the  Recueil  des  plus  belles 
pieces  des  poetes  franqois,  tant  anciens  que  modernes,   depuis 
Villon  jusqu'a  M.  de  Benserade.     Paris,  1692. 
CEuvres  de  Chapelle  et  de  Bachautnont.    The  Hague,  1755. 
Voyage  de  MM.  de  Bachaumont  et  de  la  Chapelle,  avec  un  melange 
de  pieces  fugitives  tire'es  du  cabinet  de  M.  de  Saint-£vremont. 
Utrecht,  1697. 

CHAPPUZEAU,  SAMUEL  :  LAcadtmie  des  femmes.     Paris,  1661. 
Le  Thtdtre  franqois,  divided  into  three  books  treating : 

I.   DePUsage  de  la  Comtdie. 
II.   Des  Auteurs  qui  soutiennent  le  Theatre. 
III.   De  la  Conduite  des  comtdiens.    Lyons  and  Paris,  1674. 
CHARDON,  HENRI  :  La  troupe  du  Roman  comique  de'voile'e  et  les  come1- 

diens  de  campagne  au  XVIIe  siecle.     Le  Mans  and  Paris,  1876. 
Nouveaux  documents  sur  les  comediens  de  campagne  et  la  vie  de 
Moliere — Vol.  I:  M.  de  Modbie,  ses  deux femmes  et  Madeleine 
Bejart.     Paris,  1886. 

CHATEAUNEUF,  ABB&  DE  :  Dialogue  sur  la  musique  des  anciens.  Post- 
humous work  published  in  1725. 

CHERON,  MME.     See  Nouvelle  Collection  Molitresque,  Vol.  VII. 
CHEVALIER,  J.  :  Les  Amours  de  Calotin.     Paris,  1664.     See  Collection 

Molitresque,  Vol.  XVI. 
CHORIER,  NICOLAS:  De  Petri  Boessatii  .  .  .  vita  amicisque  litteratis. 

Grenoble,  1680. 

CIZERON  RIVAL,  FRANCOIS- Louis  :  Recreations  litttraires,  ou  anecdotes 
et  remarques  sur  diffe'rents  sujets,  recueillies  par  M.  C.  R.  (Cizeron 
Rival.)  Paris  and  Lyons,  1765. 

CLARETIE,  JULES  :  Moliere,  sa  vie  et  ses  oeuvres.     Paris,  1873. 
COLLARDEAU,  PHIL^AS  :  La  Salle  de  thtdtre  de  Molttre  au  port  Saint- 
Paul,  avec  le  plan  du  jeu  de  paume  de  la  Croix-Noire  et  celui  de 
I'hStel  Barbeau.     Paris,  1876. 
Collection  Molitresque.     See  Nouvelle  Collection  Molitresque. 

This  collection  was  published  from  1867-75  bv  Paul  Lacroix.  It 
contains  reprints,  with  notes,  notices  and  plates,  of  the  works 
following.  Most  of  the  volumes  are  separately  described  under 
their  individual  headings. 

I.   Le  Songe  du  rtveur  by  Guillaume  de  Luyne,  1660. 
II.   Le  Rot  glorieux  au  monde  by  Pierre  Roulld,  1664. 

III.  £lomire  hypocondre  ou  Les  Mtdecins  vengts  by  Le  Boulanger 

de  Chalussay,  1670. 

IV.  Joguenet  ou  les   Vieillards  dupe's  by  Moliere.     It  is  the  first 

form  of  the  Fourberies  de  Scapin,  1670. 

V.   La  Guerre  comique  ou  la  Defense  de  F£cole  des  femmes.     It 
is  a  dialogue  in  prose  by  Philippe  de  la  Croix,  Paris,  1664. 
VI.   VEnfer   burlesque.  —  Le    Mariage    de     Belphegor.  —  Les 

Epitaphes  de  M.  de  Moliere.     Cologne,  1677. 
VII.   Le  Ballet  des  Incompatibles.      Printed  at  Montpelier,  1655. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


4*3 


VIII.   Zttinde,Q\i  la  Veritable  critique  de  ?£cole  des  femmes  et 
la  Critique  de  la  Critique  by  Donneau  de  Vise*,  Paris, 
1663. 
IX.   Les  Veritables  Prdcieuses  by  Antoine  Baudeau  de  Somaize, 

1660. 

X.   La  Critique  du  Tartuffe,  pre'ce'de'e  d'une  Lettre  satirique 
(en  vers)  sur  le  Tartuffe,  tcrite  a  hauteur  de  la  Critique. 
Paris,  1670. 
XI.   La  Fameuse  Comedienne,  o\\  Histoire  de  la  Gutrin,  aupara- 

vantfemme  et  veuve  de  Moliere.     Frankfort,  1688. 
XII.    Observations  sur  le  Fes  tin  de  Pierre,  et  Rtponse  aux  Obser- 
vations touchant  le  Festin  de  Pierre  by  B.   A.   Sr  de 
R(ochemont).     Paris,  1665. 

XIII.  R/ponse  a  r Impromptu  de  Versailles  ou  la  Vengeance  des 
marquis  by  Jean  Donneau  de  Vise*.  Published  in  the 
Diversit^s  galantes,  1 664. 

XIV.   Le  Mariage  sans  manage,  comedy  by  Marcel,  1672. 
XV.   La   Cocue    imaginaire,   comedy  imitated    from   Le    Cocu 

imaginaire,  by  F.  Doneau,  1660. 

XVI.   Les  Amours  de  Calotin,  comedy  by  Chevalier,  1664. 
XVII.   Lettre  sur  la  comtdie  de  P  Imposteur,  dated  Aug.  20,  1667. 
XVIII.   Les  Fragments  de  Moliere,  comedy  by  Champmesld. 
XIX.  Lettre  sur  les  affaires  du  thtdtre,  et  Extrait  des  Nouvelles 
nouvelles    by    Donneau    de    Vise*.      Published    in    the 
Diversith  galantes,  1664. 

XX.   L?  Impromptu    de  I'hdtel  de   Conde",  comedy  by  Antoine 
Jacob  Montfleury,  1664. 

COLOMBEY,  EMILE  :  Ruelles,  Salons,  et  Cabarets.  Histoire  anecdotique 
de  la  litte'rature  fra^aise.  Paris,  1888-1892.  2  vols. 

CONSTANT,  CHARLES  :  Molttre  a  Fontainebleau  (1661-1664).  Simple 
note  historique  suivie  de  la  biographic  du  comddien  de  Brie.  Meaux, 

1873- 
CONTI,  LOUIS-ARMAND  DE  BOURBON,  PRINCE  DE  :  Trait/  de  la  comtdie 

et  des  spectacles,  selon  la  tradition  de  VEglise  tirte  des  conciles  et 

des  saints  Peres.     Paris,  1666. 
COPIN,  ALFRED  :  Histoire  des  comediens  de  la  troupe  de  Moltire.     Paris, 

1885. 

COQUELIN,  CONSTANT:  Moliere  et  le  Misanthrope.     Paris,  1881. 
COSNAC,   DANIEL  DE  :   Mtmoires  de  Daniel  de  Cosnac  .  .  .  Public's 

pour  la  Socie't/  de  V Histoire  de  France,  by  M.  le  Comte  Jules  de 

Cosnac.     Paris,  1852.     2  vols. 

COTIN,  CHARLES,  Abbe\    See  Nouvelle  Collection  Molifresque.  Vol.  XII. 
COURTIN,  ANTOINE  DE:  Nouveau  Traitt  de  la  Civilitt  qui  se pratique 

en  France  parmi  les  honn£tes  gens.     Paris,  1712. 
COUSIN,  VICTOR  :  La  Socittt  Fran^aise  au  XVIIe  siecle,  d'apres  Le 

Grand  Cyrus  de  Mile,  de  Scuddry.     Paris,  1886.     2  vols. 
CRANE,  THOMAS  FREDERICK:  La  Socittt  Franqaise  au  dix-septttme 


424  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

siecle.     An  Account  of  French  Society  in  the  XVI  Ith   Century 

from    Contemporary  Writers.      Edited,    with    Introduction    and 

Notes.     New  York  and  London,  1889. 
Les  Hdros  de  Roman.     Dialogue  de  Nicolas  Boileau-Desprtaux. 

Edited  with  introduction  and  notes.     Boston,  1902. 
CROIX,    PHILIPPE    DE  LA  :    La    Guerre    comique  ou    la    Defense  de 
1'Ecole    des    femmes.      Paris,    1664.     See   Collection  Molitresque, 
Vol.  V. 


D 

D AVIGNON,  HENRI  :  Molilre  et  la  me:  Moliere  et  les  femmes.  —  Moliere 
et  la  bourgeoisie.  —  Moliere  et  les  petites  gens.  —  Le  drame  dans 
Moliere.  Paris,  1904. 

DESFEUILLES,  ARTHUR  and  PAUL.     See  Mesnard. 
DESPOIS,  EUGENE,  Editor.     See  Mesnard. 

Le  The'dtre  fran$ais  sous  Louts  XIV.     Paris,  1874. 
DESPREAUX.    See  Boileau. 
DONEAU,  FRANCOIS  :  La  Cocue  imaginaire.    Paris,  1660.    See  Collection 

Moltiresque,  Vol.  XV. 
DONNEAU  DE  VIZE,  JEAN  :  Conversation  dans  une  ruelle  de  Paris  sur 

Molttre,  dtfunt  (1673).     Reprinted  in  1877.     See  Malassis. 
La  Veuve  a  la  mode.     See  Nouvelle  Collection  Molitresque,  Vol.  IX. 
Lettre  tcrite  sur  la  com^die  du  Misanthrope.     Placed   before  this 
comedy  in  the  original  edition  of  1667,  and  reproduced  by  MM. 
Despois  and  Mesnard  in  Vol.  V  of  their  edition  of  the  CEuvres  de 
Moliere. 
Lettre  sur  les   affaires  du   the'dtre,  dans  les   Diversity's  galantes. 

Paris,  1664.     See  Collection  Molitresque,  Vol.  XIX. 
Le  Mercure  galant :  A  monthly  journal,  in  which,  under  the  form  of 
letters,  this  author  published  the  news  of  the  court,  anecdotes, 
verses,  the  announcement  and  criticism  of  new  plays,  etc.    Founded 
in  1672. 
Nouvelles  nouvelles.      Paris,    1663.      See    Collection   Molieresque, 

Vol.  XIX. 
Oraison  funlbre  de  Moliere.     See  Nouvelle  Collection  Molieresque, 

Vol.  I. 
Rtponse  a  V Impromptu  de  Versailles,  ou  la  Vengeance  des  marquis. 

Paris,  1664.     See  Collection  Molieresque,  Vol.  XIII. 
Zelinde,  ou  la  Veritable  critique  de  r  Ecole  des  femmes  et  la  Critique 
de  la  Critique.     Paris,    1663.     See   Collection  Molieresque,  Vol. 
VIII. 
DREYSS,  CHARLES  :  MSmoires  de  Louis  XIV  (Edition  of  M.  Charles 

Dreyss).     Paris,  1860. 

Du  CASSE,  A. :  Histoire  anecdotique  de  Pancien  the'dtre  en  France.  Paris, 
1864.  2  vols. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  425 


FILLON,  BENJAMIN  :  Recherches  sur  le  sejour  de  Moliere  dans  V Quest  de 

la  France  en  1648.     Fontenay-le-Comte,  1871. 

FOURNEL,  VICTOR  :  Les  Contemporains  de  Moliere.     Recueil  de  comd- 
dies,  rares  ou  peu  connues,  joudes  de  1650  a  1680,  avec  Phistoire 
de  chaque  theatre,  des  notes  et  notices  biographiques,  bibliogra- 
phiques,  et  critiques.     Paris,  1863-1875.     3  vols. 
Le  Vieux  Paris:  Fetes,  jeux,  et  spectacles.     Tours,  1887. 
FOURNIER,  EDOUARD  :  Etudes' sur  la  vie  et  les  ceuvres  de  Moliere,  revues 
et  mises  en  ordre  par  Paul  Lacroix,  et  pre'ce'de'  d'un  Preface  par 
Auguste  Vitu.     Paris,  1885. 
Histoire  du  Pont-Neuf.     Paris,  1862.     2  vols. 

Le  Roman  de  Moliere,  suivi  de  fragments  sur  sa  vie  prive'e  d'apres 
des  documents  nouveaux.     Paris,  1863. 


GALIBERT,  L.     See  Raymond. 

GAZETTE,  LA,  de  France.     See  Renaudot. 

GENIN,  FRANCOIS  :  Lexique  compare  de  la  langue  de  Moliere  et  des  Scri- 

vains  du  'XVIIe  siecle,  suivi  d'une  lettre  a  M.  A.  F.  Didot.  .  .  . 

Paris,  1846. 
GONZALES,   EMMANUEL  :   Les   Caravanes  de   Scaramouche,  avec  une 

Notice  historique  par  Paul  Lacroix.     Paris,  1881. 
GRIMAREST,  JEAN-L^ONOR  LE  GALLOIS,  Sieur  de.    La  Vie  de  M.  de 

Moliere.     Paris,  1705. 

GUERET,  GABRIEL.     See  Nouvelle  Collection  Molieresque,  Vol.  XVI. 
GUIZOT,  FRANCOIS-PIERRE-GUILLAUME  :  Corneille  et  son  temp s :  Etude 

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H 

HARVARD  COLLEGE.    See  Lane. 

HAWKINS,  FREDERICK  :  Annals  of  the  French  stage  from  its  origin  to 
the  death  of  Racine.  London,  1884. 

HILLEMACHER,  FR£D£RIC  :  Galerie  historique  des  portraits  des  comt- 
diens  de  la  troupe  de  Moliere,  grave's  a  I'eau  forte,  sur  des  docu- 
ments authentiques.  Avec  des  details  biographiques  succincts, 
relatifs  a  chacun  d'eux.  Dddie*  a  la  Come'die  Francoise.  Second 
edition,  Lyons,  1869. 

HOUSSAYE,  ARSENE:  La  Comtdie  Franqaise,  1680-1880.     Paris,  1880. 
Les  Comfdiens  de  Molttre.    Paris,  1879. 


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JACOB,  P.-L.,  pseudonym  of  PAUL  LACROIX.    See  Lacroix. 

JAL,  A. :  Dictionnaire  critique  de  biographic  et  d'histoire.  Errata  et 
supplement  pour  tous  les  dictionnaires  historiques,  d'apres  des  doc- 
uments authentiques  inddits.  Paris,  1867. 

JAMES,  GEORGE  PAYNE  RAINSFORD  :  The  Life  and  Times  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth.  London,  1838.  4  vols. 

JARDINS,  MLLE.  DES,  later  MME.  DE  VILLEDIEU  :  Rtcit  en  prose  et  en 

vers  de  la  farce  des  Prtcieuses.     Paris,  1660. 
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JOUAUST,  D. :  Editor,  Thtatre  complet  de  J.-B.  Poquelin  de  Molttre. 
Preface  par  M.  D.  Nisard  de  1' Academic  Francaise.  Dessins  de 
Louis  Leloir  grave's  a  1'eau  forte  par  Flameng.  Paris,  1876-1883. 
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JUSSERAND,  JEAN-ADRIEN-ANTOINE-JULES  :  Shakespeare  in  France  under 
the  Ancien  Regime.  London  and  New  York,  1899. 

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KERJEAN,  Louis  DE  :  Moliere,  est-il  venu  a  Nantes  ?    Nantes,  1863. 


LA  BRUYERE.    See  Bruylre. 

LACOUR,  Louis  :  Etudes  sur  Moltire.  — Le  Tartuffe  par  ordre  de  Louis 
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Pieces  ine'dites.  Paris,  1877. 

LACROIX,  PAUL,  also  known  under  the  pseudonym  of  P.-L.  Jacob,  biblio- 
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Molitresque,  Vols.  I,  II,  III,  IV,  V,  VI,  VII,  VIII,  IX,  X,  XI, 
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LA  FONTAINE,  JEAN  DE  :  Les  Amours  de  Psyche"  et  de  Cupidon.     Paris 

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LA  GRANGE,  CHARLES  VARLET,  Sieurde:  Registre  (1658-1685).    See 
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des  documents  intdits.     Paris,  1902. 
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57,  Catalogue  of  the  Moliere  Collection  in  Harvard  College  Library. 

Cambridge,  1906. 

LANG,  ANDREW  :  Article  Moltire  in  Vol.  XVI  (1883)  of  the  Encyclope- 
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LARROUMET,  GUSTAVE  :  Etudes  d^  Histoire  et  de  Critique  dramatiques. 
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La  Comtdie  de  Moliere,  1'auteur  et  le  milieu.     Paris,  1886. 
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Collection  Molieresque,  Vol.  XVII. 
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1666).     Paris,  1877. 
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Lou  ANDRE,  CHARLES:  Editor,  CEuvres  completes  de  Moliere.     Edition 

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428  BIBLIOGRAPHY 


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MALASSIS,  A.  P. :  Moliere  jug6  par  ses  contemporains.  This  volume, 
which  is  preceded  by  a  notice  by  A.  P.  Malassis,  comprises  reprints 
of  the  following  works:  Conversation  dans  une  riielle  de  Paris  sur 
Moliere,  dtfunt  by  Donneau  de  Vize"  (1673);  L 'Ombre  de  Moliere 
by  Guillaume  Marcoureau  de  Brdcourt ;  Vie  de  Moliere  en  abre'ge'  by 
Charles  Varlet  de  la  Grange  (1682);  M.  de  Molttre  by  Adrien 
Baillet  (1686)  ;  Poquelin  de  Moliere  by  Charles  Perrault  (1697). 
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MANTZIUS,    KARL:    A    History  of   Theatrical   Art  in  Ancient  and 

Modern  Times,  translated  by  Louise  von  Cossel.     Vol.  IV:  Moliere 

and  His    Times:    The    Theatre  in  France  in  the  17th   Century. 

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MARCEL:    Le  Mariage  sans   mariage.     Paris,    1672.      See   Collection 

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MARIGNY,  JACQUES  CARPENTIER  DE  :  Relation  des  divertissements  que 
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MATTHEWS,  JAMES  BRANDER  :  Article  Molttre  en  Amtrique,  in  the 
Molitriste  for  August,  1881;  also  an  article  entitled  Moliere:  The 
Life  and  the  Legend,  in  Lippincotf  s  Magazine  for  April,  1879. 
MENAGE,  GILLES  :  Menagiana.     Paris,  1693. 
MERCURE  GALANT,  LE.     See  Donneau  de  Vize". 
MERIMEE,  PROSPER.     See  Aubignd. 

MESNARD,  PAUL.  Editor :  (Euvres  de  Moliere.  Nouvelle  Edition, 
revue  sur  les  plus  anciennes  impressions,  et  augmente'e  de  variantes, 
de  notices,  de  notes,  d'un  lexique  des  mots  et  locutions  remarquables, 
d'un  portrait,  de  fac-simile,  etc. 

The  first  three  volumes,  and  a  part  of  the  fourth  of  this  edition  were 
edited  by  Eugene  Despois ;  the  fourth  volume,  from  Le  Tartuffe, 
and  all  thereafter  by  Paul  Mesnard.  Paris,  1873-1900.  13  vols., 
together  with  an  Album.  (Vol.  XI,  Notice  bibliographique  by 
Arthur  Desfeuilles.  Vols.  XII  &.X\\\,  Lexique  de  la  langue  de 
Molttre,  with  introduction,  by  Arthur  and  Paul  Desfeuilles.) 
Author:  Notice  biographique  sur  Moliere.  Vol.  X  (edition  noted 

above).     Paris,  1889. 
MESNIL,  E.  REVEREND  DU  :  La  Famille  de  Molttre  et  ses  reprtsentants 

actuels  d*apres  les  documents  authentiques.     Paris,  1879. 
Les  A  ieux  de  Moliere  a  Beauvais  et  a  Paris,  d'aprh  les  documents 

authentiques.     Paris,  1879. 

MICHELET,  JULES  :  Louis  XIV  et  Ja  revocation  de  rtdit  de  Nantes. 
Vol.  XIII,  1860,  of  Histoirede  France. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  429 

MISCELLANEOUS  :  L'Enfer  Burlesque.  —  Le  Mariage  de  Belphegor. 

Les  Epitaphes  de  M.  de  Moliere.      Cologne,  1677.      See  Collection 
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MOLAND,  Louis.  Editor:  (Euvres  completes  de  Moliere.  Nouvelle 
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travail  de  critique  et  d'eYudition  :  aperc,u  d'histoire  litte'raire,  bio- 
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N 

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and  notices,  of  the  following  works  : 


430  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I.   Oraison  funlbre  de  Moliere  by  Donneau  de  Vize*,  with  a 

notice  by  P.-L.  Jacob,  Paris,  1879. 

II.   Mllisse^  attributed  to  Moliere,  with  a  notice  by  P.-L.  Jacob, 
Paris,  1879. 

III.  Rldt  en  prose  et  en  vers  de  la  Farce  des  Prtcieuses  by 

Mile,  des  Jardins,  with  a  notice  by  P.-L.  Jacob,  Paris, 
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VII.   La  Coupe  du  Val-de-Grdce.    A  response  to  Moliere's  poem, 
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with  two  notices  by  P.-L.  Jacob,  Paris,  1880. 
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Edouard  Thierry,  Paris,  1881. 

X.   Myrtil  et  Mtlicerte,  pastorale,  finished  by  the  son  of  the 
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band, with  a  notice  by  Edouard  Thierry  (1669). 
XL   Pantgyrique  de   r£cole    des  femmes  (1663),   by   Charles 

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XIII.  Le  Mtdecin  volant  by  Edme  Boursault,  with  a  notice  by 

P.-L.  Jacob,  Paris,  1883. 

XIV.  Recueil  sur  la  mort  de  Moliere,  Paris,  1885. 

In  this  volume,  and  thereafter,  the  notices  and  notes  are  by 

Georges  Monval. 
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comtdiens  de  son  temps.     Paris,  1 887. 
XVI.   La  Promenade  de  Saint-Cloud  by  Gabriel  Gudret  (1669). 

Paris,  1888. 
XVII.   PremierRegistrede  la  Thorilliere  (1663-1664).    Paris,  1890. 


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BIBLIOGRAPHY  431 


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28 


434  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

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UNIVERSITY 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Aime'-Martm,  1 14  note  a. 

Alceste,  the  character  of,  57,  256- 
278,310,317,332,352- 

Alexander,  307. 

Allainval,  Abbe*  d',  360  note. 

Allier,  Raoul,  on  the  original  of 
TartuSe,  217. 

Amants  magnifiques,  Les,  see  Mag- 
nificent Lovers,  The. 

Amour  mtdecin,  L\  see  Love  as  a 
Doctor. 

Amphitruo,  source  of  Amphitryon, 

333- 

Amphitryon,  124,  333~335- 
Andreini,  Francesco,  60. 

Isabella,  60. 

Andromeda,  46,  47,  48. 

Anselme,  60. 

Aretino,  Pietro,  218. 

Argan,  57. 

Armand,  Pierre-Jean-Baptiste-,  son 

of  Moliere,  359  note  *,  368. 
Assoucy,  Charles  Coypeau  d',  70-72. 
Aubry,  Jean,  husband  of  Genevieve 

Be>rt,  373. 

Aulularta,  source  of  The  Miserly). 
Avare,  L\  see  Miser,  The. 


Bachaumont,  70,  72,  106. 

Ballet  of  the  Incompatible* y  The, 

77,  105. 
Baluffe,  149. 
Barbieri,  Nicol6,  60. 


Barine,  Madame,  xvii. 

Baron,  Michel,  a  protdge*  of  Moliere, 
243-245,  318,  321,  322,  323,  370- 
375;  Armande  Bdjart  and,  360- 

363- 

Bary,  9. 

Basilisco  del  Bernagasso,  II,  see 
Basilisk  of  Bernagasso,  The. 

Basilisk  of  Bernagasso^  The,  a 
source  of  The  Hypocrite,  218. 

Bayle,  xiii,  333. 

Bazin,  M.  A.,  142,  199. 

Becque,  Henri,  257. 

Beffara,  xiii,  142. 

Bejart,  Armande,  her  family,  21 ; 
relations  with  Moliere,  135-154; 
youth  of,  140;  parentage,  141; 
marriage  with  Moliere,  147 ;  per- 
sonality, 150, 155  ;  in  "  The  Pleas- 
ures of  the  Enchanted  Isle,"  194- 
196;  matrimonial  misconduct, 
235-253 ;  reconciliation  with  Moli- 
£re,  359,  360;  Baron  and,  360, 
362;  Moliere's  last  days  with, 
368;  marriage  with  Gue'rin,  378. 

Genevieve,  27,  35,  47,  324. 

Joseph,  father  of  Madeleine 

Be>rt,  21. 

Joseph,  the  younger,  21,  24, 

26,  27,  35,  47,  72,  89,  90,  91. 

Louis,  47,  72,  195,  233. 

Madeleine,  her  relations  with 

Moliere,  19-48,  137;  treasurer 
of  Moliere's  troupe,  68 ;  descrip- 
tion of,  71,  72;  lease  of  The'atre 
du  Marais,  84;  plays  Magdelon, 


438 


INDEX 


114;  influence  of,  154;  her  estate, 
324;  characterised  in  The  Ver- 
sailles Impromptu,  364;  death, 

365-367. 

Beltrame,  see  Barbieri,  Nicol6. 

Bergerac,  Cyrano  de,  as  fellow  stu- 
dent of  Moliere,  15;  46  note1; 
inspires  Love  as  a  Doctor,  255 ;  in- 
spires The  Tricked  Pedant,  351. 

Bergerac,  Cyrano  de,  11,  45,  46 
note  *. 

Bernier,  Franpois,  15. 

Berthelot,  Rend,  41. 

Beys,  Charles,  27. 

Bible,  the,  as  a  source  of  French 
tragedy  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, xix. 

Blunderer,  The-,  or,  The  Mishaps, 
Moliere's  first  successful  comedy 
in  verse,  45,  50;  played  at  Lyons, 
48,  49;  an  adaptation,  55,  62; 
representing  Moliere's  Italian 
period,  58 ;  following  Corneille, 
59;  source,  60;  plot,  61 ;  human 
sentiment  in,  64 ;  and  The  Love 
Tiff,  78 ;  termination  of  run,  92 ; 
a  command  performance  at  the 
Louvre,  100;  the  result  of  re- 
search, 128;  slavishly  transal- 
pine, 331. 

Boccaccio,  suggested  in  Smutty 
Face,  52;  situations  in  The 
School  for  Husbands  derived 
from,  128;  as  a  source  of  The 
Hypocrite,  218;  as  a  source  of 
George  Dandin,  338. 

Boileau,  and  Moliere,  I,  51,  146, 
169,  200,  278,  285,  302,  306-329, 
359,  370,  376. 

Boissat,  Pierre  de,  48,  69. 

Boissat,  Life  of  Pierre  de,  69. 

Bonnenf ant^  Nicolas,  27. 

Bores,  The,  55,  131,  133,  134,  135, 
189,  196,  314- 

Bossuet,  i,  374. 

Bourbon,  Armand  de,  see  Conti, 
Prince  of. 


Bourdaloue,  i. 

Bourgeois,  Catherine,  34-36. 

Bourgeois  gentilhomme,  Le,  see 
Burgher,  The,  a  Gentleman. 

Boursault,  1/4,  175,  177- 

BrantSme,  82. 

Brdcourt,  De,  156,  326. 

BreVille,  Jacques  Onfroy  de,  xiv. 

Brie,  Mile,  de,  and  Moliere,  43,  44, 
47,  65,  78,  81,  137,  145,  243,  253; 
as  Cathos  in  Les  Prlcieuses  ridi- 
cules, 114;  in  "The  Pleasures  of 
the  Enchanted  Isle,"  194,  196. 

Brossette,  xiii,  222,  285,  309,  310, 
326,  376  note1,  377  note. 

Bruyere,  La,  xviii,  i,  363. 

Burgher,  The,  a  Gentleman,  a  his- 
trionic play,  57,  199,  332;  de- 
scribed in  Armande  Bejart,  151  ; 
produced  before  the  court  at 
Chambord,  198,  348;  presenting  a 
picture  of  Rohault,  321  ;  inspira- 
tion of  title,  344. 

Byron,  154,  227,  338. 


Calvimont,  Mme.  de,  66,  67,  80. 

Campan,  Mme.,  187. 

Casaque,  La,  see  Cassock,  The. 

Cassock,  The,  52. 

Cathos,  107. 

Chalussay,  Le  Boulanger  de,  on 
Moliere  and  L'Orvietan,  9 ;  on 
Moliere  and  the  law,  16;  satire 
on  Moliere,  £lomire  Hypochon- 
driac, by,  19,  87,  290,  298;  on 
Armande  Bejart,  142. 

Chapelle,  Claude,  14,  15,  70,  72, 
106,  137,  149,  249,  250,  275,  306- 

329»  369- 
Chappuzeau,  xiii. 
Charpentier,  304. 
Charpy,   as    original    of    Tartuffe, 

214. 

Chasteauneuf,  47. 
Chateauneuf,  Abbe  de,  217. 


INDEX 


439 


Chatfield-Taylor,    Mr.    H.   C,  xv 

xxiv,  xxv. 

Chevalier,  174,  note2. 
Chorier,  Nicolas,  69. 
Cid,  the,  xx. 
Claveau,  Marie,  89. 
Ctelie,  60,  63. 
Clerin,  Germain,  27,  34. 
Clermont,  College  of,  attendance  of 

Moliere  at,  12-14. 
Colbert,  324. 
Comic     Romance,     Scarron's,     de- 
scriptive   of    travelling    players, 
38-41. 

Comtesse  d?Escarbagnas,  The,  a  his- 
trionic play,  198,  199,  349. 
Conde,  on  persecution  of  Moliere, 

220. 
Conti,  Prince  of,  65,  66,  67,  73,  79, 

80,  167,  215. 
Conti,  the  Prince  of,  the  comedians 

of,  65-83. 
Coquelin,    Constant,    on    Moliere, 

276,  277,  335. 
Cormier,  66. 

Corneille,  xviii,  xix,  xx,  I,  30, 
46,  59,  82,  85,  88,  179,  198, 
332. 

Cosnac,  Abbe*  Daniel  de,  66,  67. 
Co  tin,  Abb£,  355. 
Couthon,  374. 

Crane,  T.  F.,  xvii-xxv,  308. 
Cresse*,  Marie,  3-6. 
Criticism  of  the  School  for  Wives, 

The,  169-173,  329. 
Critique  de  V  £cole  desfemmes,  La, 
see   Criticism   of  the  School  for 
Wives. 

Croisac,  81,  89. 

Croisy,  Du,  an  actor  in  Moliere's 
company,  89,  194;  a  character 
in  The  Criticism  of  the  School 
for  Wives,  177;  a  character 
in  Les  Prtcieuses  ridicules,  107, 
114. 

Croisy,  du,  Mile.,  81. 
Cupidity,  78. 


Dandin,  George,  first  performance, 
198;  a  histrionic  play,  199,  336- 
338,  348;  reference  to  Armande 
Bdjart,  238. 

Depit  amoureux,  Le,  see  Love  Tiff, 

The. 
Descartes,  313,  318,  320,  368. 

Desden  con  el  desden,  El,  see  Scorn 
with  Scorn. 

Despois,  Eugene,  xii,  xiii,  294  note  \ 

Desurlis,  Catherine,  27. 

Docteur  amoureux:,  Le,  see  Physi- 
cian in  Love,  The. 

Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself,  The, 
motive  of,  53;  a  histrionic  play, 
57  ;  as  a  medical  satire,  279,  291- 
294,  3°3- 

Dolt,  The,  60. 

Don  Garcia  of  Navarre;  or,  The 
Jealous  Prince,  122,  123,  124, 
153- 

Don  Garde  de  Navarre  ou  le  Prince 
jaloux,  see  Don  Garcia  of  Na- 
varre; or,  The  Jealous  Prince. 

Don  Juan;  or,  The  Feast  of  Stone, 
first  produced,  224;  source,  224; 
and  Shakespeare,  225  ;  a  picture 
of  the  old  regime,  225-230 ;  ridi- 
culing medicine,  283,  284;  dis- 
regard of  dramatic  canon,  343. 

Don  Juan,  ou  le  festin  de  pierre, 
see  Don  Juan;  or,  The  Feast  of 
Stone. 

Donnay,  Maurice,  257. 

Dottor  bacchettone,  II,  see  Hypo- 
critical Doctor,  The. 

Dufort,  Martin-Melchoir,  72,  73. 

Dufresne,  Charles,  24,  41,  42,  47, 
48,  81,  89. 

Dumas,  Alexandre,y?/r,  257. 


Echegaray,  257. 

Ecole  desfemmes,  D,  see  School  for 
Wives,  The. 


440 


INDEX 


Ecole  des  marts,  L\  see  School  for 

Husbands,  The. 
Eguise',  L',  see  Bejart,  Louis^ 
Elomire    hypocondre,   see  Elomire 

Hypochondriac. 
Elomire  Hypochondriac,  a  satire  on 

Moliere    by    Le    Boulanger    de 

^Chalussay,  19,  87,  290  note1,  298. 

E'pernon,   Duke  of,   as    patron   of 

Moliere,  36-49. 
Eraste,  57,  78. 
Esprit,     Madeleine,     daughter    of 

Moliere,  358,  378. 
Espy,  Del',  89,  90,  181. 
Estang,  Cyprien  Ragueneau  de  P, 

45,  46,  48. 
Etourdi,  L',  on  les  Contretemps,  see 

Blunderer,    The;  or,   The  Mis- 
haps. 


Fdcheux,  Les,  see  Bores,  The. 

Fagot  Gatherer,  The,  52,  294. 

Fagotier,  Le,  see  Fagot  Gatherer, 
The. 

Fail,  Noel  du,  82. 

Fameuse  comedienne,  La,  see  Fa- 
mous Comedienne,  The. 

Famous  Comedienne,  The,  an  attack 
upon  Madame  de  Moliere,  19,  20, 
141,  150,  239-242,  249,  360,  362, 
363- 

Farce,  The,  at  the  beginning  of 
Moliere's  career,  50,  51. 

Favori,  Le,  see  Favourite,  The. 

Favourite,  The,  190. 

Femmes  savantes,  Les,  see  Learned 
Women,  The. 

Fdnelon,  I. 

Feuillade,  Due  de  la,  174. 

Fillon,  Benjamin,  377. 

Fiurelli,  Tiberio,  see  Scaramouche. 

Flying  Physician,   The,  52,  53,  58, 

119*  279- 

Fontaine,  La,  I,  302,  306,  315-317, 
378  note x. 


Foolish  Quarrel,  The-,  or,  The  Criti- 
cism of  Andromachus,  308. 

Forced  Marriage,  The,  55,  119,  189, 
197,  235,  237,  254. 

Forest,  La,  326,  327. 

Fouquet,  xxv,  129-133,  315. 

Fourberies  de  Scapin,  Les,  see  Ras- 
calities of  Scapin,  The. 

Fournier,  fedouard,  140,  143,  153. 


Galibert,  M.,  74,  75,  78  note1. 

Gallois,  J.-L.  le,  see  Grimarest. 

Gassendi,  as  teacher  of  Moliere,  15. 

Gassot,  Philibert,  89. 

Gaultier-Garguille,  8. 

Gelosi,  the,  troupe  of  Italian  come- 
dians, 60. 

Gdly,  Maitre,  75,  76. 

Ge'nin,  150. 

Gioannelli,  Bonvicino,  218. 

Gloire  du  Val-de-Grdce,  La,  see 
Glory  of  the  Val-de-Grdce,  The. 

Glory    of  the    Val-de-Grdce,    The, 

323-325- 

Gorgibus  dans  le  sac,  see  Gorgibus 
in  the  Bag. 

Gorgibus  in  the  Bag,  52. 

Goudouli,  69. 

Grimarest,  Life  of  Moliere  by,  xii, 
xxii,  9,  17,  19,  45,  67,  105,  106, 
136,  142,  243,  248,  313,  314,  320, 
322,  323,  326,  327,  359,  361,  362, 
368,  371-375,  377,  378. 

Gros  Guillaume,  8,  10. 

Gros-Rene',  see  Pare,  du;  a  char- 
acter in  The  Love  Tiff,  78. 

Gros-Ren^ :  A  School-boy,  52. 

Gros-Rene:  tcalier,  see  Gros-Rene" : 
a  School-boy. 

Gros-Rene">s  Jealousy,  52. 

Groto,  Luigi,  60. 

Gudnegaud,  Theatre,  379. 

Guerin,  the  second  husband  of 
Madame  de  Moliere,  19,  378. 

Guiche,  Comte  de,  240, 241, 251,275. 

Guillot-Gorju,  8,  10,  115,  279. 


INDEX 


44! 


H 

Hamlet,  resemblance  of  Alceste  to 
276. 

Hauptmann,  Gerhardt,  257. 

Hermite,  Francois  Tristan  1',  24. 

,  Jean-Baptiste    Tristan   P,  21 

24,  47. 

Hervd,  Marie,  mother  of  the  Bdjarts, 
21,  27,  41,  141,  143,  147,  148,  364. 

Hervieu,  Paul,  257. 

Hesnault,  early  acquaintance  of, 
with  Moliere,  15. 

Hippolyte,  60,  61,  62. 

Homme  a  bonnes  fortunes,  L\ 
363- 

H6tel  de  Bourgogne,  famed  come- 
dians of,  8,  10;  description  of,  n  ; 
afterpieces  at,  50,  52;  Moliere's 
rivals  at,  97,  155,  157,  179;  Ra- 
cine and,  307  ;  amalgamation  with 
the  Theatre  Gudnegaud,  379. 

du  Petit  Bourbon,  connection 

of  Moliere  with,  n,  12,  52,  86; 
Moliere's  delDut  at,  87;  in  sole 
possession,  91 ;  95,  106. 

Houssaye,  Arsene,  138. 

Hubert,  194,  232,  233. 

Hypocrite,  The,  distinguishes  Moli- 
ere's period  of  aggression,  56; 
first  public  production,  98;  use 
of  material  from  Don  Garcia  of 
Navarre,  124;  performed  in 
"The  Pleasures  of  the  En- 
chanted Isle,"  196,  197  note  ; 
knight-errantry  in,  202 ;  plot,  202- 
212;  the  Jesuits,  the  Jansenists, 
and,  212-215,  223 ;  compared 
with  The  Misanthrope,  255;  re- 
ceipts from,  275;  its  run,  294; 
treatment  of  the  physicians,  295; 
humanity  in,  305 ;  La  Forest 
portrayed  in,  327;  classic  des- 
potism, 334;  poetic  insight  in, 
335;  and  The  Miser,  339;  and 
The  Learned  Women,  353. 
Hypocrite,  The,  an  Italian  comedy 
by  Pietro  Aretino,  218. 


Hypocritical    Doctor,    The,    as    a 

source  of  The  Hypocrite,  218. 

i 

1 

Ibsen,  257. 

"  Illustrious  Theatre,  The,"  organ- 
isation of,  26 ;  members,  27,  28  ; 
installed  in  Paris,  31 ;  the  end  of, 
345  67. 

Imaginary  Invalid,  The,  a  his- 
trionic play,  57;  as  a  comedy 
ballet,  198;  presented  at  the 
Palais  Royal,  199,  370;  a  mili- 
tant comedy,  199 ;  a  medical  sat- 
ire, 279,  299-305 ;  model  for  pert 
servant  in,  327  ;  one  of  its  char- 
acters  inspired  by  Moliere's 
daughter,  358 ;  means  of  reunion 
between  Moliere  and  his  wife, 
360;  Moliere  stricken  with  last 
illness  while  playing  in,  374. 

Imposteur,  L\  see  Impostor,  The. 

Impostor,  The,  substituted  as  title 
of  The  Hypocrite,  222. 

Impromptu  de  Versailles,  Ly,  see 
Versailles  Impromptu,  The. 

Tnawertito,  L',  see  Dolt,  The. 

Tnteresse,  Z,',  see  Cupidity. 

Ipocrito,  L\  by  Pietro  Aretino,  see 
Hypocrite,  The. 


al,  M.  A.,  xiii,  141. 
Jalousie    du    barbouillS,    La,    see 
Jealousy  of  Smutty  Face,   The. 
Jalousie    du    Gros-Rene",    La,    see 

Gros-Ren^s  Jealousy. 
ansenists,  and  Jesuits,  212-216. 
ardins,  Mile,  des,  190. 
fealousy  of  Smutty  Face,  The,  52, 

58,  338. 

esuits,  and  Jansenists,  212-216. 
Jocular  Nights,  The,  162. 
odelet,  an  actor  in  Moliere's  com- 
pany, 89,  1 14. 

,  Vicomte    de,   a    character  iu 

Les  Prdcieuses  ridicules,  1 1 5. 


442 


INDEX 


Jonsac,  Marquis  de,  360. 
Jusserand,  J.  J.,  xiv. 


La  Grange,  xii,  45,  46,  88,  89,  95, 
99,  106,  136,  147,  150,  157,  175 
note,  190,  194,  231,  307,  326, 
370,  374- 

La  Grange,  in  Les  Prtcieuses  Ridi- 
cules^ 107,  114. 

Larroumet,  Gustave,  on  Moliere, 
xiii,  200,  232,  256,  329,  364. 

Lauzun,  Comte  de,  240,  241. 

Le'andre,  61,  62. 

Learned  Women,  The,  a  histrionic 
play,  57,  353-356;  and  Don 
Garcia  of  Navarre,  124;  Boileau 
and,  359. 

Ldlie,  60,  61,  62. 

Lessing,  218. 

Lestang,  see  Estang,  Cyprien  Rague- 
neau  de  1*. 

Liar,  The,  59. 

Limoges,  44. 

Livet,  Ch.  L.,  203  note. 

Loiseleur,  Jules,  73  note,  143,  148, 
154,  325  note,  326,  373  note1. 

Loret,  on  Moliere,  xiii,  90 ;  on  The 
School  for  Husbands,  1 28 ;  on 
The  School  for  Wives,  168. 

Louis  XIII,  Moliere  in  the  suite  of, 
17,  18;  59. 

Louis  XIV,  xvii,  I,  86,  92,  94,  too, 
124,  130-134,  146,  155,  156,  175 
note,  184,  185,  198,  199,  200, 
215,  219,  222,  223,  254,  309,  335, 

347,  370,  375,  376,  379- 

Love  as  a  Doctor,  as  a  comedy 
ballet,  197;  a  militant  comedy, 
199,  254,  255 ;  a  satire  on  the 
physicians,  279,  285-290,  303. 

Love  Tiff,  The,  representing  the 
Italian  period,  58,  79;  subjective- 
ness  in,  78 ;  first  performance  in 
Paris,  88;  played  before  Louis 
XIV,  90 ;  termination  of  run,  92, 


94;  played  at  the  Palais  Royal, 

121. 

Lucretius,  influence  of,  upon  Mo- 
liere, 1 6,  266. 

Lully,  Giovanni  Battista,  190  note  2, 
198,  254,  304,  370,  378. 

Lyons,  45,  46,  48,  59,  60,  64,  65,  7°, 
74- 

M 

Macette,  a  source  of  The  Hypocrite, 

218. 
Magnificent  Lovers,  The,  198,  199, 

332. 

Magnon,  Jean,  36. 
Maintenon,  Madame  de,  379. 
Maltre  d>tcole,Le,  see  School-master, 

The. 

Malingre,  Magdale,  27. 
Mansfield,  Richard,  xxv,  62. 
Mantzius,    Karl,    Molttre   and  his 

Times  by,  xiii,  71. 
Marais,  Theatre  du,  89,  379. 
Mareschal,  Andre*,  27,  37. 
Mariageforct,  Le,  see  Forced  Mar- 
riage, The. 
Martiniere,  Bruzen  de  la,  xiii,  174 

note  *,  347  note. 
Martinozzi,  Anna,  65. 
Mascarille,  the  character  of,  53,  54, 

55,  57,  61,  62,  78,  107,  108,  no, 

119. 
Mazarin,  65,  78,  79,  82,  91,  100,  124, 

200. 
Mtdecin  malgrt  lui,  Le,  see  Doctor 

in  Spite  of  Himself  ,  The. 
Mtdecin    volant,    Le,     see    Flying 

Physician,  The. 
Medico  volant e,  II,  53. 
Mtlicerte,  197,  199,  244. 
Manage,  355. 
Menander,  82. 
Menoux,  Mile.,  47. 
Menteur,  Le,  xx. 
Meredith,  George,  120. 
Me*rou,  Henri,  357. 
Mesnard,    Paul,    a    biographer    of 


INDEX 


443 


Moliere,  xii,  xiii,  29,  36,  72  note  l, 
123,  175  note,  214,  242,  246,  276, 
293,  294,  302,  308,  31 7  note,  335, 
36o,  377,  378. 

Mignard,  Nicolas,  70. 

,  Pierre,  70,  82,  324,  325,  329. 

Misanthrope,  The,  containing  pas- 
sage from  Lucretius,  16;  distin- 
guishing Moliere's  period  of  ag- 
gression, 56,  57;  inspiration,  124; 
subjectivity,  166,  255,  277 ;  trav- 
esty of  the  Due  de  Montausier, 
1 88;  and  The  Hypocrite,  212; 
reference  to  Armande  Be'jart,  238 ; 
the  greatest  of  French  comedies, 
255 ;  characters,  256,  257 ;  sum- 
mary, 257-274;  first  presented, 
274;  subjectiveness,  277 ;  Voltaire 
on,  294 ;  and  The  Imaginary  In- 
valid, 305 ;  popularity  to-day, 
331;  classic  despotism  in,  334; 
showing  poetic  insight,  335 ;  and 
The  Miser,  339 ;  and  The  Learned 
Women,  353. 

Miser,  The,  a  histrionic  play,  57, 
332 ;  plot,  339-343- 

Mithridales,  370. 

Modene,  Baron  de,  20,  23,  24,  31, 
32,  47,  143. 

Moland,  Louis,   La    Vie  de  J.-B. 

Moliere,  by,   xiii,    88,    187 ;    on 

tDon  Juan;    or,   The    Feast   of 

Stone,   22$ ;     on     The     Tricked 

Pedant,  351. 

Moliere,  Jean-Baptiste,  place  among 
French  writers  of,  i ;  birth  of,  2 ; 
parentage  of,  3-7 ;  early  life  of, 
6-1 8;  at  the  college  of  Clermont, 
12-14;  as  pupil  of  Gassendi,  15, 
1 6  ;  as  student  of  law,  16  ;  in  the 
suite  of  Louis  XIII,  17,  18  ;  asso- 
ciation with  Madeleine  Be'jart, 
19-48;  beginning  of  theatrical 
career,  25 ;  ddbut  at  "  The  Illus- 
trious Theatre,"  25-34 ;  a  strolling 
player,  with  "^The  Comedians  of 
the  Duke  of  Epernon,"  35-49 ;  as 


a  farceur,  50-64 ;  period  of  Italian 
influence,  52-55,  58-64;  second, 
or  Gallic,  period,  55 ;  third,  or 
obsequious,  period,  55,  56;  fourth, 
or  period  of  aggression,  56 ;  social 
standing,  69 ;  fifth,  or  histrionic, 
period,  56,  331-357;  the  creator 
of  French  comedy,  59 ;  under  the 
patronage  of  the  Prince  of  Conti, 
65-80;  Parisian  success,  84-100; 
first  appearance  at  court,  85,  86 ; 
installed  at  the  Palais  Royal,  121; 
secure  in  the  royal  favour,  134; 
marriage  with  Armande  Be'jart, 
147;  marital  experience,  155-177  ; 
as  a  courtier,  181-201  ;  the  poet 
militant,  202-230;  health  breaks 
down,  223,  245 ;  theatrical  and 
domestic  life,  231-253  ;  personal- 
ity, 245,  246,  247,  323,  327,  328, 
329;  compared  with  Shakespeare, 
253,  356,  357  ;  Louis,  eldest  son, 
born,  240;  personal  experience  in 
The  Misanthrope,  277 ;  warfare 
against  the  physicians,  279-305; 
friends,  306-330;  as  a  naturalist, 
334;  Madeleine-Esprit,  daughter, 
358>  3735  third  child,  Pierre- 
Jean-Bap  tiste-Armand,  359  note1, 
368;  reunion  with  wife,  359,  360; 
death,  365,  366,  370-374  5  his 
philosophy,  369. 

Moliere,  Mile.,  see  Armande  Be'jart. 

Molina,  Tirso  de,  as  a  source  of 
Don  Juan;  or,  The  Feast  of  Stone, 
224;  as  a  source  of  Love  as  a 
Doctor,  255. 

Monchesnay,  302. 

Mondorge,  322,  323. 

Montaigne  and  Moliere,  82, 1 17, 1 18. 

Montalant,  husband  of  Madeleine- 
Esprit,  378. 

Montausier,  Due  de,  188,  278. 

Montespan,  335. 

Montfleury,  142,  146,  179. 

Monval,  Georges,  xiii,xxiii,  8l  note, 
248  note,  327  note. 


444 


INDEX 


N 

Nantes,  41. 

Neufvillenaine,  93. 

Nicomedes,  85. 

Nouvelle  des   Hypocrites,   La,   s 

Novel  of  the  Hypocrites,  The. 
Novel  of  the  Hypocrites,  The,  as 

source  of  The  Hypocrite,  218. 


Octave,  350. 

Orgemont,  D'u. 

Orgon,  in  The  Hypocrite,  202-21 

216. 

Orlando  Furioso,  193. 
Oronte,   in    The  Misanthrope,  262 

263-268,  271,  272,  295. 
Orsino,  274. 
Orvie'tan,  L',  9. 


Palais  Royal,  theatre,  121,  122. 

Pandolfe,  60. 

Pare,  Du,  and  Moliere,  41,  43,  47, 
54,  81,  89,  93,  195,  232;  his  wife 
and  Moliere,  43,  44, 65,  67,  78,  8r 
89»  137,  I95»  196;  his  wife  anc 
Corneille,  82  ;  and  Racine,  308. 

Parfaict,  the  Brothers,  xiii. 

Pascal,  xviii,  i,  213. 

Pedant  jout,  Le,  see  Tricked  Pe- 
dant, The. 

Perefixe,  Hardouin  de,  222,  223. 

Perrault,  xiii,  26. 

Physician  in  Love,  The,  52,  86,  87, 
279. 

Physicians,  the,  attacked  by  Moliere 
in  Love  as  a  Doctor,  279,  285- 
29 1 »  303  ?  in  The  Doctor  in  Spite 
of  Himself,  279,  291-294,  303;  in 
Monsieur  de  Pourceaugnac,  279, 
295-298,  303  ;  in  The  Imaginary 
Invalid,  279,  298-305;  in  The 
Flying  Physician,  279;  in  The 
Physician  in  Love,  279. 


Piacevoli  notte,  see  Jocular  Nights, 
The. 

Pinel,  George,  26,  27. 

Plaideurs,  Les,  see  Pleaders,  The. 

Plautus,  60,  62,  82,  117,333,339. 

Pleaders,  The,  307. 

Poisson,  Mile.,  81,  246. 

Pons,  Abbe*  de,  as  original  of  Tar- 
tuff  e,  215. 

Pont-Neuf,  8. 

Poquelin,  Catherine,  half-sister  of 
Moliere,  373  note1. 

Poquelin,  Jean,  3-6,  34,  35,  84,  321, 

Portrait,      The;     or,     Harlequin 

Horned  by  Opinion,  121. 
Portrait  du  peintre,  ou  la  Contre- 

critique  de  rZcole  des  femmes, 

see  Portrait  of  the  Painter,  The; 

or,  The  Counter-Criticism  of  the 

School  for  Wives. 
Portrait  of  the  Painter,  The;  or, 

The     Counter. Criticism     of    the 

School  for     Wives,     174,     175, 

Pourceaugnac,  Monsieur  de,  written 
to  revenge  treatment  at  Limoges, 
45  ;  occasion  of,  198  ;  as  a  medical 
satire,  279,  295-298,  303. 

Precaution  inutile,  La,  see  Useless 
Precaution,  The. 

Prtcieuses  ridicules,  Les,  represent* 
ing  Moliere's  Gallic  period,  55; 
first  true  dramatic  picture  of  triv- 
ial occurrences  of  French  life,  59- 
country  ladies  in,  78;  first  per- 
formance in  Paris,  92-95,  99, 
100 ;  derivation  of  title,  101-106; 
construction,  \io7-i  12;  first  per- 
formance, Ii\3-ii5;  a  dramatic 
landmark,  117;  the  standard  of 
truth,  120;  the  result  of  observa- 
tion, 128. 
rincess  d 'glide,  La,  see  Princess 
ofElis,  The. 
rincess  ofElis,  The,  191,  192. 

seudolus,  62. 


INDEX 


445 


Psyche,  198,  199,  332,  359,  362. 
Pure,  Abbs'  de,  106,  115. 


Quinault,  collaborates  with  Moliere, 
198,  332. 

R 

Rabel,  Germain,  34. 

Rabelais,  55,  82. 

Racine,  xix,  I,  50,   141,  200,   215, 

306,  307-317,  334,  370. 
Ragueneau,  Marie,  45,  46,  89. 
Rambouillet,  Marquise  de,  101-104, 

113,  114. 
Rascalities  of  Scapin,    The,   as  a 

histrionic  play,  57,  350-352. 
Ratabon,  95. 
Raymond,    Emmanuel,    see    Gali- 

bert,    M. 

Raynaud,  on  the  Faculty  of  Medi- 
cine of  Paris,  281,  282. 
Re"aux,   Tallemant  des,  author   of 

Historiettes,  xiii,  20. 
Rebellion,  Pierre,  41 . 
Regnier,  218. 
Riccoboni,  Louis,  120. 
Rice,  Mr.  Wallace,  xv. 
Richelieu,  Abbe*  de,  239,  240,  241. 
Richelieu,  Cardinal,  25,  77,  96. 
Ritratto  owero  Arlechino  cornufo 

peropinione,  II,  see  Portrait,  The; 

or,  Harlequin  Horned  by  Opinion. 
Robinet,  xiii,  179,  183,  361. 
Rochefoucauld,  La,  xviii,  I. 
Rochelle,  Mile.,  68. 
Roederer,  105,  106,  335. 
Rohault,  Jacques,  248,    320,    321, 

329- 
Roman,    comique,    Le,    see    Comic 

Romance. 
Roquette,  as  original  of  Tartuffe, 

214. 
Rose*,    Catherine     du,    see     Brie, 

Mile.   de. 


Rostand,  Edmond,  n,  45,  46  note1. 
Rouen,  29,  30,  80,  82. 
Roulle",  Pierre,  219. 


Sainte-Beuve,  66,  note  *,  180,  203. 

Saint-Simon,  187,  188. 

Sancho  Panza,  Moliere  in  part  of, 
327. 

Sardou,  257. 

Sarrasin,  66,  79,  105. 

Sauval,  87. 

Scaramouche,  relations  with  Moli- 
ere as  Moliere's  teacher,  n,  12; 
in  //  Medico  volante,  53 ;  origin 
of  stage  name,  54,  86,  155. 

Scarron,  Comic  Romance  by,  38-41, 
95,  153,  162. 

School  for  Husbands,  The,  Gallic 
point  of  view  in,  55;  Sganarelle 
in,  119;  construction,  126,  127; 

.    Moliere's  first  pure  comedy,  127  ; 

as  a  subjective   play,    128,    139, 

157  ;  compared  with  The  School 

for  Wives,  \  £3  ;  Voltaire  on  the 

denouement  of,  162. 

School  for  Wives,  The,  Gallic 
character  of,  55;  a  biographical 
document,  155-180,  235,  237;  the 
hypocrites  and,  222 ;  Racine  and, 
308. 

School-master,  The,  52. 

Scorn  with  Scorn,  192. 

Scudery,  Madeleine  de,  a  competi- 
tor of  Madame  de  RambouiHet, 
104,  105 ;  and  Les  Prtcieuses 
Ridicules,  107,  1 12;  on  George 
Dandin,  198. 

Secchi,  Nicol6,  78,  79. 

Segrais,  80,  116. 

Sganarelle,  character  of,  53,  54,  55, 
56,  57,  119,  126,  157,  226,  229, 
255,  283;  in  The  Misanthrope, 
255;  in  The  Doctor  in  Spite  of 
Himself,  291-293,  333  ;  309. 

Sganarelle,  ou  le  Cocu  imaginaire, 


446 


INDEX 


see  Sganarelle;  or,  The  Imagi- 
nary Cockold. 

Sganarelle;    or,    The     Imaginary 
Cockold,  93,  94,  115, 119,  120,  121, 

332- 
Shakespeare,  Moliere  and,  xx,  xxi, 

154,  191,277,  356,357. 
Shelley,  154. 
Sicilian,  The;  or,  Love  as  a  Painter, 

197,  198. 
Sicilien,  ou  F  Amour  peintre,  Le, 

see  Sicilian,  The;  or,  Love  as  a 

Painter. 
Soulie,  Eudore,  xiii,  5,  141  note a, 

321  note1,  322,  368,369,373. 
Straparola,  162. 
Strindberg,  257. 
Subligny,  308. 
Sudermann,  257. 


Tabarin,  308,  352  note  *. 
Tartuffe,  Le,  see  Hypocrite,  The. 
Taschereau,  Jules,  76  note  \ 
Terence,  82,  117,  128. 
Thackeray,  185. 

Theatre  du  Marais,  II,  84,  379. 
Thtbaide,  La,  see  Thebaid,  The. 
Thebaid,  The,  50,  307. 
Thorilliere,  La,  156,  195. 
Three  Rival  Doctors,  The,  52. 
Tricked  Pedant,    The,    source    of 

The  Rascalities  of  Scapin,  351. 
Trots    docteurs    rivaux,    Les,   see 

Three  Rival  Doctors,  The. 
Trollope,  Henry  M.,   The  Life  of 

Molttre  by,  xiii. 
True  and  the  False  Pricieuse,  The, 
,v  1 1 6. 


Trufaldin,  61,  62,  63. 
Turlupin,  8. 

U 
Useless  Precaution,  The,  162. 


Varlet,  Charles,  see  La  Grange. 

Vasseur,  Abbd  le,  306. 

Vauselle,    see   Hermite,  Jean-Bap- 

tiste  Tristan  1'. 
Vayer,  La  Mothe  le,  sonnet  to,  by 

Moliere,  324,  325,  358;   charac- 
ter, 369. 
Vega,  Lope  de,  as  a  source  from 

which  Moliere  drew,  128,  294. 
Versailles    Impromptu,    The,   xxv, 

55,  175.  179,  189,  235,  257,  364- 
Vienne,  48. 
Vinot,  xii,  89,  1 06. 
Vitu,  Auguste,  368. 
Viz£,  De,  xiii,  168,  173,  174,   179, 

1 88,  328. 
Voltaire,  on   Moliere,   i ;  on  Don 

Garcia,  122,  123;  on  The  School 

for  Husbands,  125  ;  on  The  School 

for  Wives,  162,  163. 
Vraye  et  fausse  prtcieuse,  La,  see 

True  and  the  False   Prfcieuse, 

The. 

W 

Williams,  H.  Noel,  239. 


Ztlinde,  De  Vizd's  comedy  of,  328, 
329. 


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